Blazing Waves, Burning Rain
by Ormiss
Summary: [Suikoden III] [Chris & Hugo] In a world that twists around the promise of power emanating from the 27 True Runes, can the minds of two opposites who are thrust against each other in battle see past the illusions and find each other's hearts?
1. When the Wind Blows Gently

**Introduction: **This story is Suikoden III as I would have liked to see it. I do not intend to transcribe the game, or chronicle the events therein. Instead, I'm going to take a lot of liberties… so be prepared for changes, large and small. Still, I have a lot of love for the Suikoden world, and I'm going to stay true to it. (At times, my own theories about certain mysteries will be used as truths, where applicable.)

First and foremost, this is a romance. I felt that the game set up a lot of potential for an interesting relationship between Chris and Hugo, but let it run out into the sand. I'm going to take care of that potential, and expand on it, and hopefully someone will find it entertaining. If you've always wanted to read a good romance between Chris and Hugo, or a heroic, fast-paced rewriting of the Suikoden III plot, I'm going to try my best to make you happy.

In addition, if you're a Suikoden veteran, you might see a couple of familiar faces down the line… there are some characters I like too much not to include when I'm actually doing a Suikoden fanfic. Still, they won't take up too much space compared to the characters from Suikoden III.

In order to keep this from story from expanding beyond a manageable size, I'm going to focus thoroughly on Chris and Hugo, excluding several key characters except where necessary. This will be especially true about Geddoe. Don't get me wrong, I like Geddoe a lot, and he's an integral part of the story. I'm just not going to be writing about him unless he's involved with Chris or Hugo. It's some form of heresy to say this when you're talking about Suikoden, but I'm going to try to finish this story with as few characters as possible. ;)

Oh, and please review if you like/hate the story! I'd love to hear from you.

**

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-Hugo-**

The wind howled in Hugo's ears as he sailed through the air, clutching onto the feathers of his faithful gryphon steed. With his stomach pressed against the creature's back, and his hands around its mane, he could see the undulating landscape below; a canvas of lush green and earthen brown dotted by trees and bushes. The sight was intoxicating, as always, and he relished the exhilarating feeling in his stomach as he commanded Fubar to dive, closing the distance between the ground and their perch in the sky. In the distance, he could see a small gathering of discordant colors that stood out from the landscape; the tents of Karaya. At this distance, it might as well have been an ant hill splashed with a dozen dyes.

At his command, Fubar aimed for the village, cruising straight as a dart towards the ground. The beast's hawk-like call, "Kweee!" was piercing enough to speak above the wind, but Hugo's words would be drowned at the instant they left his mouth. Therefore, he relied on pats and tugs in order to steer his friend.

In order to better see the approaching destination, Hugo leaned to the side to peer forward, and was immediately caught by the buffeting gale; the locks of his short hair flittered like a tree on the savannah during a storm. Still, he held on, laughing as his cheeks were assailed by the wind stream.

Drawing closer, Hugo could see motion among the colorful tents, and with his keen eyes, he had just enough time to tell friends and family apart as they flew past his vision. He was aiming for the small hill at the edge of the village, steering Fubar towards its precipice. The setting sun shot crimson shafts of light from the horizon, suddenly blinding him as he drew closer to the ground. He raised his hand in order to shield his eyes, nearly losing his grip: Fubar shrieked in protest as Hugo grasped his feathers with his right hand alone. Pushing his body down against the beast's back, he felt his heart beat quicker than before. When he saw the ground rushing up beneath him, he laughed, letting go of his feathered friend and leaping backwards.

The world seemed to gravitate around him as he was spun full circle, and he stretched out his arms to feel the wind against his tanned skin. The moments seemed to draw out into minutes as he relished the feeling of weightlessness. Then, with a quick twist of his thighs, he turned and planted the palm of an outreached arm against the grass. With first contact, everything happened in a sudden moment; his body was tossed back, and he fumbled for contact with his other hand, sliding along dirt and grass. He buckled his knees and then reached out a foot, settling onto the ground as he was turned upright. His heart beat to a wild cadence as he reached far in front of him with his other leg, seeking solid ground. Stamping down against the grass, he came to a halt, and his torso was flung forward. Filled with exhilaration, Hugo stepped quickly in order to keep upright, matching the pace of his gathered momentum with a series of hurried, unbalanced steps.

When he came to a stop, he found himself looking down on the village from the very edge of the hill's precipice. His left foot was planted in the dirt of the decline, and he could hear the ground crunch underfoot, sending small stones dislodged from the mud towards the base of the cliff.

Though his breath was ragged and his knees felt as though they would buckle on their own at any moment, Hugo remained upright, stubbornly transfixed in his awkward stance. ((_I'm standing!_))he thought, filled with delight.

Just then, he heard a quacking sound from beneath the cliff. "Humans were not meant to fly," a voice called out.

Looking down, Hugo found the source; a squat, feathered man dressed in the martial gear of Calm Lake, the village of the ducks. With a laugh, Hugo suppressed the desire to leap down from his perch, and called out, "Sergeant! See, I'm standing! I finally did it!"

The duck smirked. "Yes, and about time too. Another foot, and you'd have been tumbling all the way to your mother's tent. I'm not too sure she'd be amused."

Hugo laughed. "Don't be so drab, Sergeant! I came out alright, didn't I?"

"Sometimes, lad, I wonder…"

Sitting down on the ledge, Hugo tramped his feet down the slope and planted his hands behind his back, finding decent footing before he slid down the side of the hill towards where his friend was standing. Elated, he closed the distance between them in two steps and flung his arms around his fuzzy body. "It's great to see you! What are you doing here?"

Before Sergeant Joe was able to answer, Fubar swept down, alighting on the ground just near the duck. He flinched, but regained his composure quickly, tapping the butt of his halberd against the dusty ground. "Hrm. Well, the chief of Karaya has asked me to come."

"Mom? How come?"

"I expect we'll find out once we speak to her, lad," the sergeant said, brushing dust from the feathers of his waist.

Absently patting Fubar on his ruffled mane, Hugo nodded. "So you just got here?"

"That's right. If you're done risking your life in ways the spirits had never imagined, perhaps you would care to come?"

Grinning, Hugo nodded. "Sure, I need something to eat, anyway."

Just making their way to the chief's tent had taken some time: Sergeant Joe was well-known and liked in Karaya, and Grassland courtesy demanded that each and every one of them pay his or her respects to the visiting warrior. Exchanging words with the villagers became a tedious, but appreciated process. When they finally slipped underneath the tent flap and stepped into Chief Lucia's tent, they were greeted by a low table stacked with traditional Karayan food.

Hugo's mother was, as usual, not alone. Her martial advisor, Beecham, was seated cross-legged near the entrance, stroking his unkempt beard. At the back of the tent, Luce, a plump woman, was helping the chief put the finishing touches to tonight's dinner, while her son, Lulu, was seated at the table, trying not to fidget as he sighed, toying with a leg of chicken. When he saw the visitors step inside, he grinned broadly and stood up. "Hugo!" he called his friend "were you flying!"

Hugo smirked, stepping gingerly around the edge of the table to take a seat next to Lulu. "You should have seen me; I finally managed to—"

"—risk your life like a fool?" his mother filled in. Her voice was calm, but there was a touch of irritation beneath the sarcasm. She turned without hesitation to Sergeant Joe, offering her greetings and asking him to make himself at home. The warrior graciously took a seat next to Beecham, who was smirking at Hugo's plight. When Hugo met his eyes, he grinned and turned to Sergeant Joe, engaging in the casual talk of peers.

Hugo looked at his mother, who happened to be staring him down with an imperious look on her face. Feeling his cheeks flushing, he averted his eyes and tapped his fingers melodiously against the surface of the wooden table. He wanted to divert her attention from what he had been doing today, and he wished that he could ask about her business with Sergeant Joe right at this moment. That would have to wait, though: No business could be discussed before dinner, no matter the seriousness of the dialogue. For now, he would have to improvise.

"Err, you look impressive today, mother," he fumbled.

She snorted, clearly unimpressed with his feeble attempt to curry favor. Still, she casually ran the fingers of her hand through her blonde hair as she sat down next to him. She did not broach the subject of flight, though Hugo well knew that he would hear it before long. As they began to eat, Hugo felt a tinge of annoyance. He had not been raised to be timid, and his mother had certainly set a bold example during her own youth. She had no right to ask him to behave like some cowardly ironhead.

**-Chris-**

Chris could still hear the cries of the people echo through the weary head as she walked up the stairs of the Council Hall, accompanied only by her squire, Louis. There had been precious little time to rest following recent events, and the parade that the council had forced her into just as she returned to Vinay del Zexay had done nothing but tire her further. Besides, it had succeeded in giving her a magnificent headache that threatened to bore a hole through her skull. She was not in the best of moods when she stepped up to the oaken doors and rapped her gauntleted knuckles against the surface.

"Enter," came the muffled reply.

Chris was just about to twist the handle when Louis cleared his throat. "Shall I take your sword, madam?"

"Hm? Oh…" Chris sighed. "I guess that knightly rights are not recognized here. Hmph. Very well…" Her mind barely followed the motions of her hands as she untied the sword by rote, handing it to her squire. "Here," she said.

"I will wait here until you return, madam," Louis assured her.

"Thank you, Louis." ((_Time to get this over with…_))

Straightening her back and raising her head, Chris pushed open the doors and stepped inside the councilors' chamber. The gold-fringed orange carpet she had been standing on ran underneath the doors and crossed the distance of the chamber before her, where a polished, octagonal table claimed most of the space. The surrounding walls were home to a dozen bookshelves, each one laden with leather-bound volumes that looked like they had not been touched for decades.

Glancing over the four councilors present, Chris stepped up to the closest chair and laid her fist on her chest in salute. "You called for me?"

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, madam. Please, have a seat," councilor Rean said, motioning for the empty chair across from him.

Without a word, Chris stepped in front of the chair and sat down in one swift motion. "I thank the Goddess for allowing us the chance of gathering here today," she spoke without thought. Folding her hands on top of each other in her lap, she looked straight at Rean.

Her blessing was repeated, but then silence ensued. For a time, it was broken only by the cautious coughs and cleared throats of the councilors, but Chris was not about to give up the initiative by breaking it; if they had called her here, they would have to speak first. Her head was throbbing painfully as she waited. ((_What? Do you expect me to say something? You can't expect me to be intrigued by your reasons for summoning me…?_)) To tell the truth, she _was _a bit intrigued—stumped might be a better word—but she was not about to show it to these people.

Finally, Rean was the first to speak. "Again, thank you for coming, madam. You must be tired after the parade, and we're appreciative of that."

((_I'll be appreciative if you could get to the point_)) she thought acidly.

Rean gave her a few moments to interject, but when she remained silent, he continued. "Thanks to our Silver Maiden, and the Mighty Knights of Zexen, we have taught the barbarians a lesson in humility. This great victory called for a celebration, of course, and your role in the parade was splendid."

((_Is that what happened? It didn't seem much like a victory to me…_)) Chris thought, tightening her lips to remain silent. As she glanced at the councilors, she could tell that they expected her to say _something_. "We knights have fought to protect the people of Zexen. I am glad that the war is over."

"Indeed," rasped councilor Lekshan, a pudgy man seated to the left of Rean. "The barbarians are stumbling over each others' feet in hurry to sign the truce. Preparations are almost complete for the true celebration of our victory."

"The clans are in concord already?" Chris asked, surprised. She had not expected things to progress so quickly. Peace between Zexen and the Grasslands might finally be on the horizon, then.

"Yes," Lekshan said with a slight nod and a predatory smirk. "Already, Chisha and the Lizard Clan have sent envoys to sue for peace, and we expect the Karayan messenger any day, now. With that, the clans will be spoken for."

"What about the remaining three clans?" Chris wondered.

It was Haman who replied, snorting. "Karaya and the Lizard Clan are all that matter in the equation. Still, they seem to hold a strange reverence for the Chisha, inconsequential as they are.

Chris had to agree with Haman's logic; during the brief war, the Lizard Clan and Karaya had done the fighting for the Grasslanders while the other clans had remained in the background, with a few exceptions. If the belligerent clans sued for peace, it seemed good enough.

"If I may ask, what does this have to do with me?" Chris said on an impulse sparked by her splitting headache. She suppressed the desire to remove her gauntlets and rub at her temples. Still wearing her armor, she was tense; far too rigid to feel comfortable, even in the cushioned chair provided for her.

"Madam, as our White Hero, we need you to oversee the signing of the armistice. In fact, without your presence, the clans would hardly accept the truce. It is you that they have come to respect as an adversary.

((_That might be true,_)) Chris thought. ((_With the death of Captain Galahad and Vice-Captain Pelize, I have been thrust to the foreground. They will recognize me… and the barbarians will doubtlessly send their leaders._))

Perhaps the better part of her judgment had been worn down by the rigors of the long day, but Chris found herself feeling sarcastic. "Why don't you go yourselves, sirs? Surely the Grasslanders would be impressed to find the Zexen councilors staring them down at the signing of the armistice."

Looks passed between the councilors before Rean cleared his throat. "It would not look good if we were to send our highest echelon of power simply to sign a truce with barbarians. The clans would be emboldened by such a display.

((_Well, they would certainly be 'emboldened' if they were to see you on the battlefield. You don't even have the guts to let your own knights wear their swords in front of you. Not even your 'Silver Maiden,'_)) Chris thought.

"Of course," she said simply, straightening her back with a silent sigh.

"You will need to leave first thing tomorrow, madam. The armistice will be signed in four days," Rean informed her. "Is this acceptable?"

Chris nodded. "Certainly; whatever the council's order, it is the duty of the knights to comply. However, I have a request, if I may…?"

Rean nodded. "Go ahead, madam."

Drawing a deep breath, Chris leaned slightly forward. "We knights have not yet had the opportunity to bury our late Captain Galahad and Vice-Captain Pelize, much less mourn them. I request that we carry out this ceremony before leaving for the meeting with the clans."

She caught a smirk on Lekshan's face, but Rean did not even need to confer with his peers before rendering his decision. "Your request is denied. Acknowledging our losses at this time would weaken our position in relation to the barbarians. We must wait for a better time."

"But sir!" Chris protested, "I must object: How can we celebrate our victory without acknowledging those that were—"

"That's quite enough, madam," Rean interrupted her.

Chris frowned, leaning back.

"Perhaps," Lekshan mused, "Our Silver Maiden wishes to hold the state funeral quickly in order to solidify her claim for the title of Captain of the Knights…?"

Chris flew up, slamming her palms into the table. "Nonsense! How could you!" She could barely contain her rage; she wanted to scream at them, to release the frustration that had built up over the course of a war fraught with countless injustices, many of which were the fault of these very people. And yet, as a knight, it was her duty to serve them, regardless of their orders, or failings. She forced herself to calm down, to take her seat and compose herself again. She carefully folded her hands on top of each other again, pretending that she her outburst had not occurred.

The councilors looked at her, each one with a different look upon his face, ranging from disgust to amusement. Finally, Rean spoke. "That will be all, madam. You are excused."

Chris stood up immediately. Regardless of the outcome, she was glad to be dismissed at last. "Let us thank the Goddess for allowing us the chance to meet here today," she murmured.

"I thank the Goddess for allowing us the chance to meet here today," the councilors said in choir.

Louis held up her sword as she left the chamber, and she took it briskly, fastening the sheathed blade at her hip. Her squire waited until they were out of the building before speaking.

"Madam, how did the meeting go?" he wondered with timid optimism.

"Horridly," Chris replied. "I'll explain when my head stops…" she went silent, sighing. "I'll explain later," she said.

Louis nodded. "I'll draw a bath and prepare some tea," she said cheerfully as they stepped through the ornate gate and into the flowery garden courtyard leading up to her family manor.

"Thank you, Louis. That sounds wonderful," she sighed.

When the knight had left the chamber, Rean sat in silence for a while. Finally, he tapped his hand against a letter before him. "This war has made us a fine hero, hasn't it?" he mused.

"Indeed," Lekshan agreed, shifting in his chair. "But only a hero that dies in glorious battle is forever."

On this, they could all agree.

**-Hugo-**

When the dinner had been consumed, Hugo and Sergeant Joe stood alone outside of the tent, watching the glowing moon in the night sky. Hugo held in his hand the rolled piece of vellum containing the message that his mother had written to the Zexen leaders.

"Sergeant," he said, "do you think that there can ever be peace between the clans and the ironheads?"

Sergeant Joe patted a feathered hand against his bulging stomach, quacking in contentment. "Who knows, lad. Nothing lasts forever. Let's hope that this truce holds for at least a generation."

Hugo stared at the message, suddenly feeling the weight of the assignment he had been given. By delivering this message, good or bad, he could help dictate the future of the Grasslands. His mother's life had been torn by war; in the Grasslands, and in the Dunan Republic, which felt so distant. She had fought bravely, but suffered defeat after defeat. The Karayans were proud, but was pride enough to survive in this world? The ironheads had never treated his people with fairness; he could not imagine that they would begin now. Still, though he was raised a warrior, he knew nothing of war. On that eve, he felt that his heart was resolved.

With his own hands, he would grasp for peace, but prepare for battle.

**

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**Author's Notes:** Thanks for reading, and suffering through the prologue, for which I found no better way of entertaining you. Hopefully, the next part will be better. You will probably notice that it's sticking very true to the game so far. I just wanted to setup the plot and remind those who don't have encyclopedic knowledge of the game about what's going on. Expect more changes later on.

If you have questions or comments, feel free to e-mail me.


	2. A Warrior's Pride

**-Hugo-**

The cloud-filled sky was dim with gray light when Hugo pushed the tent flap aside and stepped out into the village the following morning. The sun was still climbing the Eastern Mountains, and the peaks were showered in a reddish glare as the spirits of the earth communed with the rising sun, bargaining for the life-giving light to bathe the Grasslands for another day. Hugo bowed in ritual to the mountains, thanking the spirits for sheltering and protecting Karaya and all those who lived in the Grasslands.

Hugo took a look around, wanting to see whether his traveling companions were ready yet. The sun was welcome, but it would be best if they could cover part of the distance to Brass Castle before noon.

When he had first found out that it would be his task to deliver the letter, Hugo had excitedly proclaimed, "_Oh! I'll ride Fubar! That way, I'll be there and back in a few hours!_"

"_I'm sure you won't, dear," _his mother had replied simply. "_It's much too risky to arrive on a gryphon; the ironheads are suspicious enough of us. They would most likely shoot you from the sky._"

"_Feh, they couldn't catch us,_" Hugo boasted.

His mother, Lucia, had raised an eyebrow. "_And how do you expect to deliver the letter, if they cannot catch you?_" she wanted to know.

For that, Hugo did not have any reply. As much as he would have loved to fly, he had to admit that it did not seem to be a good idea.

And so it came to pass that he waited in the grass field at the center of a dozen tents in the middle of Karaya, rearranging the contents of his worn leather bag so that they would not dig into his back. Occasionally, he cast a glance at Lulu, who was trying to break free from the strong grip of his mother. His friend would accompany them all the way to the Zexen capital, and Hugo was glad to have another friend's company—if he ever managed to say his farewells to his mother. As for Hugo, he was prepared, and ready to leave at a moment's notice. Looking over his shoulder, he smiled at Fubar. The gryphon was sleeping against the side of the tent as the gentle breeze ruffled his feathers and swayed the canvas. Sergeant Joe's halberd was leaned against the fabric, left outside as a gesture of peace. As Hugo's eyes passed over the beast, it raised an eyelid to peer out onto the boy. Hugo grinned, pressing a cloth blanket into the bag.

"Hugo," Sergeant Joe's voice called out.

Sweeping the bag from the ground, Hugo stepped up and shouldered the weight in the same motion. He watched the duck walk out of the tent, yawning and stretching. "Heh, I guess you'd like to sleep for a few hours more?" he taunted.

"Hrm. Only a child would scorn a few more hours of sleep, lad." With another yawn, the warrior stepped over to extract his weapon from between Fubar and the tent's canvas. Hugo watched with amusement as the gryphon toyed with the duck, rearing up and watching intently as though it were preparing to strike.

"Are you sure this thing is tame?" Sergeant Joe wondered sarcastically as he grabbed his halberd over Fubar's head.

Hugo laughed. "Fubar isn't tame; he's as free as the spirits. He doesn't bite, though… unless he mistakes you for lunch, sergeant."

Stepping away from the beast, the duck smoothed his feathers and shot him a displeased look. "I am not amused."

"You should be; he's not eating you!" Hugo joked.

"Mm. Thank the spirits," the duck sighed with relief.

While Sergeant Joe hurried to take care of some business, Hugo wandered aimlessly about the village in order to indulge his restless feet. Now and then, he cast a glance back at Lulu and Luce—the latter seemed less than willing to let her son leave at all. It occurred to Hugo that perhaps Lulu was not yet old enough for this sort of thing. Still, with the four of them, Fubar included, it did not seem likely that they would run into anything dangerous.

"It's a fine day, isn't it, Hugo?" a voice called out as he wandered past a tent.

Hugo turned his head to regard the Karayan man seated near the entrance. "Oh, Jimba. What are you doing?" he wondered. The clean-shaven warrior was leaned forward over an object he had placed between his spread legs, and he was rubbing a piece of white cloth furiously against the iron surface. Despite his greeting, he had not raised his eyes from his task.

"This? I'm just polishing it."

"Polishing?" Hugo approached and knelt down before Jimba, examining the object. It appeared to be a number of iron plates strapped together by bands of leather. At first, he could not place its utility, but then he remembered where he had seen it before. "Is that… an ironhead's armor?"

"That's right, my boy. Isn't it impressive?" Jimba wondered absently, mumbling something as he worked the cloth with zealous dedication across a specific spot near the greaves.

"Uh, I guess…" Hugo said noncommittally. Peering closer, he studied the armor with interest. Naturally, such iron clothes had given the ironheads their nickname among the clans. The basic principle seemed logical enough; the "armor" would protect against blows, ensuring that the wearer could survive even strong blows against the body. Still, as a disciple of the Karayan style of fighting, Hugo could point out numerous flaws. Most importantly, the armor would weigh down its wearer and reduce his speed and mobility. Running long distances with such armor would seem nigh impossible. Hugo had to surmise that this was why ironheads were too lazy to walk.

Jimba's voice broke Hugo from his inspection. "Say, Hugo…"

Hugo looked up. "Yes?"

The warrior seemed hesitant, as though he could not think of a way to say what needed to be said.

"What?" Hugo frowned suspiciously. "You're not going to tell me I'm too young to do this, are you?" He had received enough such implications since last night, and he did not want another from Jimba, of all people.

"Huh? No, not at all, lad. I think it's an excellent choice." He stood up, pushing the armor aside in a sudden motion. "Hugo, listen," he began. "I want you to do me a favor."

"I'm listening," Hugo assured him.

"Good," Jimba said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "This armor belonged to an ironhead, once… well, obviously. I have something else that belong—that used to belong to him."

"So, are these trophies?" Hugo wondered.

"What? Spirits, no. Actually, I was fond of him."

Hugo eyed him suspiciously. It was surprising to hear that a warrior like Jimba had been friends with an ironhead in the past. Out of curiosity, Hugo might have pressed the subject for more information, but it would be terribly rude.

"Here…" Jimba said, pulling out an object from his pocket and holding out in front of him as he put his arm around Hugo's shoulders and pulled him closer in a secretive manner. "This is called a Pentacle of Knighthood. I guess you could say that it's like a totem to the knights."

"Oh," Hugo said, taking a closer look at the object in Jimba's hand. Like the armor, it was made of iron, but it seemed to be ornamental in purpose, for Hugo could find no martial use in its dull edges. It was a five-pointed star formed of lines that crossed each other, forming another five-pointed symbol in the center. The pentacle was about as large as Jimba's hand.

"I want you to deliver this to someone," Jimba confided.

"Who?" Hugo asked simply.

Jimba shifted slightly, tapping Hugo's shoulder in an absent-minded fashion. "There's a lady knight in Zexen by the name of Chris Lightfellow. This pentacle belonged to her father."

"Oh, so her father is dead?" Hugo wondered.

Jimba did not answer the question. "I think she'd like to have this. And perhaps she would also like to hear that her father died a hero's death in battle. Can you do this for me, Hugo?"

Looking into Jimba's eyes, Hugo hesitated. Despite the man's casual smile, he could see fervor deep in his violet eyes. ((_This man must have meant a lot to Jimba,_)) Hugo surmised.

Quickly grabbing the pentacle from Jimba's hand, Hugo shrugged out of his bag and began to untie the knot that held the flap against the sack. Without a word, he stashed the pentacle within, carefully wrapping the worn iron object in a blanket. Standing up, he shouldered the bag again and turned to Jimba. "I'm honored. You won't regret trusting this to me!" he assured his friend.

Jimba smiled, patting him on his back before stretching out and placing his hands on his hips. "I'm sure I won't, Hugo. Thanks."

Hugo heard voices approaching, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sergeant Joe and Lulu traveling down the slope towards where Hugo and Jimba were standing. "Well, we're off," Hugo said.

"May the spirits watch over you," Jimba said with a wink, turning back to the task of polishing the iron. Hugo's eyes lingered on the ironhead's armor. The first rays of the sun shone upon the suit, and the light caused it to sparkle in the morning hour. Through a dim, murky finish, he could see his own reflection peering back at him, and for a moment, he stood mesmerized by the sight. ((_It's such a thick shell. Beneath the armor, I wonder what the ironheads are like,_)) he thought.

**-Chris-**

For the better part of the journey through the Zexen Forest, Borus had been droning on and on at the periphery of Chris' hearing. Despite Louis' diligent efforts, she had not been able to relax when she returned home last night, and sleep had found her half-hearted. The little rest she had gotten had done nothing to improve her splitting headache. Borus' voice had begun to annoy her, but she had not the heart to tell him to be quiet, so she kept a tight-lipped smile on her face, occasionally nodding when she perceived a question. At least the knight's friendship was refreshingly straightforward in lieu of the veiled meanings expressed by the councilors. For that, she was grateful.

Though their troupe had set a brisk pace, she found the journey dull and uneventful, and in order to take her mind off of the monotony, Chris had taken to scanning the landscape they passed for wild flowers. ((_If only I had more time for mother's garden. Instead of running the council's errands, I could explore the forest, and bring back the exotic flowers I find._)) She found the thought exhilarating, and the fantasy filled her mind. At the same time, she felt a pang of guilt. ((_Yes, this 'errand' is important. Still, I cannot help but feel that _someone _else would be more fitting than I; someone who does not carry a sword recently wiped clean of clansmen's blood._)) She sighed, turning her eyes onto the dusty road as she patted the hilt of her sword.

"…—something amiss?"

The word passed through her mind, but Chris did not hear the question until it was repeated.

"Milady, is something amiss?" Borus wondered.

Chris turned to face him, still smiling mechanically. "Nothing of consequence, Borus," she said.

"I do not like to see your beautiful face worried, milady…" Borus said. For some reason, his cheeks were ruddy with color as he spoke.

"These are troubled times. Everyone is worried," she said evasively.

Borus reined in his horse and closed the gap between their mounts. "Our Silver Maiden has done more than anyone to deserve peace. Let us worry, for now!" He raised his fist to his heart in a salute. "After all, we too are Mighty Knights of Zexen."

((_Mighty Knights of Zexen… why do I suddenly notice how silly that sounds?_)) Chris thought. She could not help but allow her smile to broaden, and she saw that Borus immediately shone up. Clearing her throat, she hardened her face—too much, at first—and said, "I _really _wish you would not call me that, Borus." ((_Goddess, I loathe that name. To be honest, I cannot decide which is worse of that and 'White Hero.' Life must be easier if you're born with black hair, or any other color than silvery white. At least you did not have to parade around the city like a clown in shining armor, mother._))

Borus did not relent. "But, milady, you are worth the acclaim!" His voice was hot with conviction.

Roland turned his head to regard them both. "Perhaps you should let it be, Borus." The elf's sharp, angular features were impassive. Chris studied his ears for a moment. ((_I concede; there are better ways to stand out in a crowd than having white hair._)) As if the ears were not enough, his hair was a lilac shade of deep blue, drawing even more attention to him.

Drawing silent, Borus resorted to sulking at the elf's reprimand, and Chris felt a tinge of joy mixed with shame. Knowing him, he would remain quiet for at least a good quarter of an hour.

Motioning his horse forward, Salome cut in between Borus and Chris, turning to speak to her. His stern face was framed by a bowl of blonde hair; a darker shade than Borus'. "Milady, as you will notice, we approach Brass Castle. Since this is the last chance to speak before we are among the eyes and ears of the council, there is something I wish to say."

Chris raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What is it, Salome?"

"I have seen the terms of the armistice as written by the council. I have no love for the barbarians, and to be frank, the wounds are still wide open, but still, if we're to have any form of lasting peace, we cannot afford to antagonize them."

"Are you saying that we should bow down to the barbarians' wills!" Borus spat.

Chris remained silent, wanting to hear Salome out.

"Of course not. It's not a matter of choosing a winner and a loser; it's about the middle ground. I do believe it lies in our interest to ensure that the barbarians do not grow to loathe the truce."

"Are you saying that we should go against the wishes of the council, Salome?" Chris asked. "The Knights of Zexen carry out the will of the council, regardless of the orders given."

Salome licked his lips. "I'm saying we should improvise. The council doesn't know what the barbarians are like; we do. The council doesn't know what war with the barbarians is like… we do."

((_From that point of view, I agree. We know better how to handle the barbarians. I'm sure that the council's intentions were merely to show the clans the strength of the knights, but perhaps something good will come of this, despite their best efforts,_)) she thought sarcastically.

They seemed to be waiting for her judgment. "The Knights of Zexen are not mutineers," she said at first, pausing to think for a moment. "Still… I agree that the course that the council suggests will likely put strains on the truce. What do you have in mind, Salome?"

Nodding, Salome began to explain his plan…

**-Hugo-**

Having never been to Brass Castle before, Hugo found himself staring with wide eyes at the sights surrounding him. As they had first approached the structure, he had been stricken with the impressive height of the walls. It seemed to him that an entire mountain must have been leveled in order to yield the countless stones that had been placed upon each other to form walls, towers and spires.

"How does it hold together? Do the earth spirits reside in the stones, and ask the spirits of the winds not to topple the castle?"

Sergeant Joe grunted. "The ironheads know secrets of construction. They mix something between the stones that helps hold them together," he explained. Pausing to take in the sights past the enormous vaulted entrance past the drawbridge, he snorted. "Besides, I don't think that the spirits would be all too happy to cooperate with the ironheads."

Hugo nodded sagely, seeing the wisdom in the sergeant's conclusion. He kept glancing to either side as they stepped into the keep.

"Halt!" a voice called out.

Hugo stopped, glancing up at an ironhead soldier that had stepped in his path. The man was wearing a pot helmet and an orange tabard wrapped tightly over something bulky beneath. Despite the situation, Hugo found that he could not help but think that the man looked rather silly in his ironhead costume.

"What is it?" he wondered.

"What is your business in Zexen territory, barbarian?"

"Huh? What did you—"

"Hugo, calm down," Sergeant Joe hissed, stepping up close to him. "Just tell him why you're here and we can be done with it."

((_Barbarian! Is this the respect that the ironheads show strangers? I should teach him some manners! Still, I promised to deliver the letter, and the pentacle. I have to keep my promise!_)) Frowning, Hugo fought back his anger and shrugged. "We're delivering a letter from Chief Lucia of the Karayans to the Zexen council. Is that good enough?"

"A letter to the council, huh?" the soldier said. His comrade had stepped away from the opposite side of the path, which had been narrowed with wooden pikes in order to form a checkpoint.

"Is there a problem?" he asked his companion.

"This lad says he's a messenger for the council," the soldier said with suspicion.

"Is that right, boy?"

Lulu stepped forward, glowering at the soldiers. "That's right! How dare you try to stop us!"

The guards ignored him.

Growing irritated, Hugo glanced to the side, watching men and women pass through the checkpoint unquestioned and unmolested. Some of them were carrying heavy loads of merchandise or supplies, but many were traveling light, alone or in groups.

"That's right. Karayans are not liars."

The soldiers' eyes narrowed on him. "What did you just imply, barbarian!"

((_That's right, ironhead. You people have no honor,_)) Hugo thought acidly.

"Hugo," Sergeant Joe said sharply. "Keep your calm," he whispered.

"I've got an important message to deliver to the Zexen council, and I won't let you stop me," Hugo said. "What do you think your chief will say if you let me wait?"

The soldiers smirked. Just then, Fubar walked lazily up to Hugo's side and rubbed its feathered flank against his clothes. The soldiers stopped smirking in a hurry. "W-what's that!" the man that had stopped Hugo said.

"Oh, this is my friend," Hugo said, patting Fubar's back affectionately. "Say, we were really set on getting a good lunch for him in Brass Castle… but if you won't let us in, I'm worried that he'll eat whatever's nearby." ((_I can't understand why people are so afraid of Fubar. Can't they see how friendly he is? If the sergeant is still nervous around him, I'll bet these fools are frightened out of their wits._))

The soldiers fidgeted.

"Isn't that right, Fubar?" Hugo asked, stroking the gryphon's mane. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

"You can't take that… that filthy beast into Brass Castle!" the soldier sputtered, gaping.

"Hush!" Hugo said, putting a finger against his lips. "He doesn't like loud voices. It reminds him of how hungry he is."

Glancing to his side, Hugo saw that Lulu was fighting hard to hold back a burst of laughter. Sergeant Joe, on the other hand, hardly seemed amused.

The soldiers looked at each other, hesitating for a moment. One of them shrugged at the other, and after a moment, they both stepped aside, pretending that Hugo and his group did not exist. In fact, they made a good show of never having talked to the Grasslanders at all.

Satisfied, Hugo strode confidently through the checkpoint, entering the corridor of the keep. Before him, he could see sunlight entering the keep from a bustling courtyard, and within the minute, they had crossed the dim tunnel and entered the heart of Brass Castle.

"Be careful when you're playing dangerous games, lad," Sergeant Joe said, quacking nervously. "It's best not to agitate the ironheads. Remember, we're on their territory now. We must be meek."

Hugo nodded, but listened only vaguely to the sergeant's advice. Stepping through the arched egress, he looked at the scene before him.

The courtyard was in fact a broad stone path flanked by the walls of the castle, and it constituted the only path through the structure. Even with a stream of merchants, travelers and soldiers—mounted or not—coursing through the area, there was plenty of space on both sides of the path. The ironheads had used this space to set up wooden shacks, with or without storefronts and colorful awnings. Even as Hugo and the others passed through, there was a lot of activity in the courtyard; tradesmen were bartering with each other, while travelers were spending their precious potch on supplies and food sold by vendors along the side of the road. Among the people, Hugo could even see a number of Grasslanders, though none of them were Karayans.

Leading Fubar through the throng elicited more than a few stares, but the soldiers paid him little heed. Perhaps they judged that anyone—and anything—that was let through the checkpoint was nothing to be worried about. Then again, perhaps they felt that it was not their duty to remove dangerous beasts from the courtyard. Certainly, more than one frightened glance was cast Fubar's way, and it made Hugo smirk.

((_It's impressive that they've been able to build this, but it feels so… small. It's so large, but it feels so small. Everything is so cramped; it's hard just to breathe with these walls looming above. At least the courtyard is open to the air,_)) he thought, watching a solitary cloud sail past in the deep blue sky above. He imagined the spirits of the winds playing in the high places of the world, and smiled, glancing at Fubar. ((_One day, I'll come play with you, way up there._))

Lulu seemed more than a little excited. "Hugo, look! They even have strange little animals for sale!" He pointed.

Looking over at the storefront, Hugo saw a small, fluffy animal with a long tail and pointed ears playing in a small basket. The creature seemed little more than a baby, but perhaps it did not grow larger. Seeing Fubar's hungry eyes, Hugo restrained his beastly friend. "Erm, I don't think it's a good idea to eat that, Fubar."

Lulu laughed, ruffling Fubar's feathers, which caused the creature to squeak in sudden irritation. It snapped playfully at Lulu, but made no real effort to cause injury. As Lulu leaped away and fell onto the ground, Hugo could not help but laugh, and his friend chuckled as he rubbed his sore bottom.

"Stand aside, barbarians!" a raspy voice called out.

Hugo saw that a group of mounted ironheads had entered the courtyard from the opposite end of Brass Castle. Each one was heavily armored, so Hugo had to surmise that they were knights. They were a varied lot; the frontrunner who had spoken up had pointed ears; even more exaggerated than those on the small animal they had just seen. Still, it was the woman that caught Hugo's attention.

Seated upon a mare the color of clouds on a sunny day, she was dressed in armor just as cumbersome as those worn by the men who surrounded her. The woman's hair, braided into a complicated bun at the back of her head, was even purer than the color of her horse; a silvery white that even her shining armor could not match. Her facial features, though mirthless and stern, were smooth and feminine. ((_Spirits… she's really beautiful._))

Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, Hugo ran his hand along Fubar's mane, tapping the hilt of the dagger sheathed at his hip absently. He looked over the others; the elf that had spoken, a handsome blonde man that was smirking confidently, a dour-looking man wearing a colorful coat over his armor, and a young boy walking at the side of the lady knight's horse. Hugo could tell that the boy was nervous, though he did not seem overly concerned for his own safety. ((_Are you all so afraid of us?_)) Hugo asked silently as he met the boy's eyes.

Spurring his horse a few steps closer, the elf spoke again, "I said move, barbarians!"

Helping Lulu to his feet, Hugo glowered at the knight. "Mind your tongue. We're not trying to get in your way."

The knight raised his eyebrows slightly. "What's that, child? You should be mindful of speaking unless spoken to."

Hugo shrugged, trying not to let his nervousness shine through his demeanor. "You spoke to my friend. That's the same as inviting me to speak as well."

Sneering, the elf reached for his bow and aimed it at Hugo.

In a heartbeat, Hugo drew the knife at his hip and took three steps forward, raising the weapon in the same instant that he reached for the bow. Despite his quick hands, the elf was not swift enough to keep Hugo from grasping the recurve with his free hand.

"You're a fool if you point a bow at someone who's just—"

The sound of metal interrupted Hugo. The blonde knight had just drawn his sword, and he found that the tip of the blade was pressed quite near Hugo's throat. ((_Damn! I guess I shouldn't have acted so rashly._)) Still, reflexes, once trained, were difficult to halt.

"Hugo!" Lulu cried out, reaching for his own dagger.

"Don't!" the woman called out in chorus with Sergeant Joe. "Please," she continued, "there will be no bloodshed here today."

"Then tell your dogs to lower their weapons; I will lower mine." Hugo regretted the insult, but he was still furious with the elf for his behavior.

The woman frowned, but she did not object. She looked at the armed knights in turn. "Roland, Borus, lower your weapons. We did not come here to fight. Remember the armistice."

"Y-yes, milady," said the knight she had called Borus.

The elf sneered, but returned the arrow he had plucked from his quiver to its rightful place.

With that, Hugo released the bow and sheathed his dagger. He took a step back, and looked up at the woman. "I'm sorry, but I don't like it when strangers point bows at me."

Glancing behind, Hugo could see that Sergeant Joe, who had remained tense but silent throughout the ordeal, was beginning to relax, moving a bit closer.

The woman nodded slowly. Hugo could see that she was holding back anger, and once more he felt guilty about his actions. ((_I was right to protect myself, wasn't I?_)) He was not sure.

"What is your business here, boy?" the woman asked.

((_Why is she calling me 'boy'?_)) he thought irritably. ((_Why does it bother me?_)) he wondered in silence. He was used to being referred to as a child in the village, even after being acknowledged as a full member of the clan. Why should it bother him, now?

Drawing a deep breath, he looked her in the eye. "I'm here to deliver—"

"Lady Chris, we need to leave," the knight whose name Hugo had not caught said, interrupting him.

Being broken off in mid-sentence annoyed Hugo, but at the moment, he was far more interested in what the knight had called his mistress. "Chris? Chris Lightfellow?" he blurted out. ((_So this is the woman whose father Jimba knew. What a coincidence, meeting her on the way to the city!_))

"That's right, I am Chris Lightfellow," the woman said. Suddenly, her face betrayed a weariness that confused Hugo.

"I have—"

"Milady," the bowl-cut knight said, motioning his horse forward.

"But—" Hugo protested.

Chris glanced back at him, but said nothing. She spurred her horse forward, and the group cantered past them. The armored boy turned and bowed deeply before following his mistress' horse.

As they moved on, the elf lagged behind.

"Be mindful of what you do here, barbarians. This is Zexen territory, and _we _have laws."

Hugo fumed at the implication, but restrained himself. ((_We do not need laws to be honorable, you bastard!_)) he retorted silently. Instead, he said, "Please, I need to speak to Chris Lightfellow." He took a step forward in order to catch up to them.

"Get back, young barbarian!" the elf called out in cold anger. "Here, WE decide who lives, who dies, AND who speaks!"

"Are you threatening me?" Hugo snorted. "Didn't you see what just happened?" ((_Take off that armor, you coward, and we'll see who lives and who dies._))

"I'm warning you, barbarian. You have no business with the Silver Maiden. Do not follow us, if you know what's good for you."

As the knight, Roland, turned his horse and galloped to catch up with his peers, Hugo turned to Sergeant Joe and Lulu.

"What meanies!" Lulu exclaimed, frowning deeply.

Sergeant Joe heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank the spirits; I thought we'd all die, or be thrown into jail." He hesitated for a moment, then seemed to remember something. "Hugo!" he quacked furiously, "you need to calm your temper! I know you're upset; I agree that they deserved what they got, but we're trying to make peace here! You need to be _above_ that sort of thing."

"It takes two people to make peace, sergeant," Hugo retorted hotly. Drawing a deep breath, he nodded. "I know what you're saying, though. I'll be more careful in the future. I promise."

"Good grief, I should hope so," Sergeant Joe exclaimed.

Clearly, Lulu was on Hugo's side. "You should have taught them a lesson! That's what I think. Together, I'm sure we could have taken them on." He grinned broadly.

((_I'm not so sure. That man… his sword moved like a flash. I don't know if I could have parried it in a real fight, even if I had my eyes on him. And the woman… well, it's not like I know that she's good, really. I just think… I mean, I just know that she's the chief. She should be the best, right?_))

"Teaching them a lesson would defeat the point of this journey," Hugo admitted. "Even if they deserve it."

"Let's move on, then," Sergeant Joe suggested.

Glancing back the way the knights had disappeared, Hugo hesitated. ((_I promised Jimba. What if I don't get another chance?_)) he wondered. Turning to the sergeant, he asked, "Do you think that Chris Lightfellow and the knights will be staying at Brass Castle?"

"It's getting late. They're probably resting here for the night, before moving on. I'd assume they're on their way to the peace conference on the Amur Plains."

Hugo nodded. "I've got something to take care of."

**

* * *

**

**Author's Notes:** At this point, you will begin to see what I mean by changes to the story. So far, it's pretty subtle, though. To be honest, I didn't look forward to writing these two first chapters, so I hope they came out somewhat entertaining. From now on, I think it'll be more fun.

If you have questions or comments, feel free to e-mail me.


	3. Into a World of Illusions

Yes, I know, the first two chapters were excruciatingly boring. Sorry about that. : )

This is where I start to deviate from the plot, as you will see. I hope that you will find it entertaining.

**

* * *

-Chris-**

Once the elf had caught up with them again, Chris turned her head to give Roland an admonishing look. "You were too confrontational," she said. ((_There is no need to antagonize Grasslanders—mere children, as far as I could tell—in such a manner!_))

Roland shook his head slightly. "Pardon me, milady, but as the acting captain of the knights, you must not speak to barbarians in such a courteous tone. Be mindful of how you act towards our enemies when the people of Zexen are watching."

Chris could read a seething anger in his calm words. She could not decide whether he was angry with her, or the barbarians. "We knights are neither brutes nor bullies, Roland. I will not tarnish our honor in order to appear strong." ((_Was that too much?_))

The elf seemed unperturbed by her words. "Milady, remember that at this time, the people's morale is the foremost concern." He spurred his steed forward, passing her by.

Chris watched coolly as the elf took the front. ((_That sounds too much like what the council said about the funeral. I—we—are knights first, but… are we no more than that?_)) she mused. Though she was no stranger to the logic presented by the elf, she did not like the argument, and she might have spoken her mind about it at another time. She realized that her rhetoric would suffer as a result of the horrible headache that assailed her mind.

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head in order to clear her thoughts momentarily. Just as she opened her eyes again, she caught a smiling face at the periphery of her blurred vision. Glancing to the side, Chris saw that a young woman with dusty white hair was watching her from just beyond the entrance to the keep through which they had passed moments ago. Her clothes were unusual; a formal shirt in hues of white and blue, and a deep blue skirt that hid her legs. Chris would have said that it was a uniform, but she had never seen its make before. Ordinarily, Chris might not have noticed her at all, except for the unnerving smile on her face and the staff she carried; a polished black rod set with a sparkling gem. ((_I do not think I have ever seen a flashier fortune-teller in my life_)) Chris mused, turning her attention to the path before her.

Once their horses had been stabled, Chris took a moment to speak to the castle's farrier about resetting Arrow Feather's shoes. While riding from the capital, she had felt a strange gait from time to time, and suspected that her mare could use the attention.

When she was finished at the stables, she found that the others had withdrawn, and quickly wound her way up the stairs and through the corridors towards the room that had been prepared for her. When she reached the door, the sound of someone clearing his throat made her turn around.

"Borus?" she asked, seeing the knight close the doors to the meeting hall.

"Milady, I… heard you approach. I was just about to have a glass of wine, and I thought it rude not to invite you."

Chris smiled. "I appreciate the offer. Do not worry about it, though; I am going to sleep early, tonight." She noticed that he was blushing, and could not imagine why. ((_Does he think that I disapprove of having a glass of wine in the evening?_)) "Well, good night," she said, pushing the door open and stepping through.

"Madam," Louis confronted her with in the next instant, "should I draw a bath?"

"Thank you, Louis, but that will not be necessary tonight. I am going straight to bed. I have the worst headache," she confided as she walked over and sat down upon the bed. The creak of leather and the rustle of iron parts sounded as her armor contracted to her pose. Sighing, she unfastened and removed her gauntlets with clumsy mailed fingers. Normally, she would ask Louis to help her with them, but she felt impatient tonight. Freeing her sweaty hands, she rubbed at her temples, trying to find some peace. ((_Good Goddess, if I am to make peace with these barbarians, first grant me peace!_))

For a moment, Louis made no sound, but she knew that he was waiting on her. "Should I prepare some hot tea for you, madam? It will help you sleep."

"Louis, it's not your task to act as my maid and butler."

The boy chuckled. "But I like to, madam! Besides, I'm much better at this than I'll ever be at riding and swordplay."

"Do not say that, Louis. Your father will have my hide if I do not make a knight out of you eventually," she said wearily. Even so, she smiled at him. ((_I'm still not sure whether you're cut out to be a knight. It's too early to tell. Still, I would be a lousy woman if I did not keep a promise to my father's friend._))

Louis shrugged, seemingly undisturbed by the thought of remaining a squire indefinitely. "I will make the tea, madam," he said.

Before she could muster the energy to speak, he had left the room for the adjoining chambers. ((_Yes, some tea would be nice…_)) she thought. Reclining against the bed, she began to undo the complex braids in her hair. ((_That barbarian boy… he had such deep eyes…_)) she thought, yawning in a manner most unbefitting a lady.

**-Hugo-**

It took some doing to persuade Sergeant Joe into letting him go about his business, but Hugo had finally managed to convince them both to take Fubar and wait for him past the western checkpoint of Brass Castle. As for himself, as he had said, he had business to take care of. ((_Jimba trusted me with this. I won't let him down!_))

At first, Hugo had fretted that in such a large structure, it might be difficult to find out exactly where the knights had been quartered. However, he had found that this was his least concern; once he had wrapped himself in a drab traveler's cloak and made the least attempt to veil his Karayan appearance, the ironheads seemed to prattle incessantly as he passed by. Gleaning the location of the person they referred to as the Silver Maiden had been easier than passing through the checkpoint in the first place.

Making his way through the common rooms and corridors within the keep, Hugo found that initially, the presence of many served to hide his own attendance. Contrary to his belief, it seemed like the ironheads would make no trouble, even if he—

"Halt, lad. This area is off-limits to commoners."

Hugo found himself staring at a pair of halberds, leveled across the stairwell in order to hinder his movement. He raised his face slightly as he asked, "Why?" ((_I'd better not speak too much, or they will notice my accent. It'd be easier if I could sound as funny as the ironheads._))

The guardsmen seemed perplexed by his question. Several moments passed before one of them spoke. "'Cause it's the knights' quarter. Commoners are not allowed past the third floor."

Standing motionless for a moment, Hugo thought about what to do. Finally, he nodded. "Bye," he said simply. ((_It's better not to argue. But… what now?_)) he thought, walking away from where the guards were standing.

Taking a look around, Hugo could see no alternate means of reaching the floors 'past the third,' and it seemed logical that they would all be guarded in similar ways, considering that they did not want 'commoners' in those areas. ((_What's a commoner, anyway? Maybe that has something to do with the fact that ironheads all look the same._))

Several people passed Hugo by on their way to their errands as he paced down the corridor on the third floor. Watching the brown stone walls, he tried to reach a conclusion. He knew that Chris Lightfellow was on the fifth floor, and he would have to find a method of reaching her without using the stairs that wound their way through this strange maze-like building. Growing nervous, Hugo stared out a window and tried not to look too conspicuous. Through the flared window, he could see a landscape of rolling green hills and expansive plains painted in earthen colors. Fluffy clouds sailed idly through the sky, looming over the Grasslands. Across the distance, the wind seemed to sing a joyful tune. ((_The ironheads are insane; they build structures that reach for the clouds, but they still can't speak to the wind spirits!_)) Leaning his arms against the sloping windowsill, he poked his head through the gap and surveyed the people milling about beneath with a sigh. ((_Spirits…_) he mused.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. Leaning back to stand up straight, Hugo looked around carefully. Finding no one present, he hurriedly began to climb out of the window.

Just as he had figured out a way to slither his body through the narrow opening without breaking his neck or losing his balance, he heard quiet steps ascend the stairwell behind him. Distrustful of his own ability to complete his feat before the person would see him, Hugo quickly withdrew into the corridor. Scratching his knee painfully against the edge of the flared window, he kneeled down and pretended to rummage through his speedily unfastened bag as he furtively rubbed the sore point. When the person entered the corridor, he did not dare to look up, but heard the sound of clinking armor.

In the distance, he heard the guardsmen greet the passerby, and the sound of motion quickly died down. Hoisting himself onto the windowsill, he once again tried to make his exit unseen.

The wind howled outside, its voice exacerbated by the shrill call of the spirits that dwelt within, and to his exasperation, Hugo found the castle wall inhospitable to would-be climbers. ((_I guess that makes sense; if they don't want people past the third floor, they'd make it difficult to climb the castle._)) For a moment, Hugo stood still, grasping his tentative handholds with all the strength he could muster. At that time, he seriously considered giving up on his endeavor and returning to the safety within the building's walls. The ground beckoned dangerously below, and though he had flown far higher on Fubar's back, he trusted the inhuman ironhead structure much less than he did the gryphon. ((_Well, Jimba wouldn't want me to splatter all across the landscape just to make the delivery, right…?_)) Heart pounding, Hugo glanced back into the corridor and listened intently for a sound; something to break his dilemma and force him to step away from the window.

Finally, he made his decision. Sticking to it before he had time to change his mind, he invoked the Wind Rune on his left hand, summoning a strong breeze to buffet his body from beneath and take the weight away. His hand glowed with a pale green light as he reached up to grasp a protruding stone, and a translucent symbol of the same color was scattering into motes of radiance in front of his chest. Concentrating on the wall, Hugo moved one arm at a time, one leg at a time, searching for anything at all to use as a foothold. The effort put a strain on his limbs and caused his fingers to ache after half a minute, and he realized that without the spell, he would have been forced to abandon his attempt before he could come much farther.

Feeling sweat build on his hands, Hugo suppressed a sensation of dread and tried to fill his mind with images of brave Karayans from the past, imagining for a moment that he was joining their ranks with a feat of bravery, rather than simply breaking into an ironhead castle in order to deliver a memento. ((_This is a fool's errand!_)) he chided himself, but he would not turn back.

Grabbing an extricate ledge just below a window that peered into what he assumed was the fourth floor, Hugo grunted with effort as he pulled himself up to come face to face with the aperture. Placing his knee against the ledge and grabbing the windowsill with his arm, he leaned his body against the wall and held on with all of his might.

Breathing heavily, Hugo pushed aside the desire to look down and instead cast his eyes upward. The high sun sent shafts of light against the stone walls, causing a reddish glare to envelop the castle's top. The fifth floor seemed so close, and yet he had only come halfway to his destination. Drawing a deep breath, Hugo carefully used his free hand to pat the wall in mock affection. ((_I can't go on; I'd better just hope that I can make my way onto the fifth floor without any more climbing._))

Dragging himself up, Hugo placed his nose in level with the window's base and glanced into the corridor.

It seemed empty. Positioning his hands in order to hoist his body through the—

"Elia!" a high-pitched, feminine voice called out, "Where are Sir Roland's sheets! You know he's very particular about his—"

Hugo panicked at the sound of footsteps, withdrawing his hands and ducking down. Desperately grasping for the edges of a slightly protruding stone, he fought to keep his balance as the penetrating voice passed by. Just then, a strong gust of wind hit his flank, pressing him to the side.

Flailing, Hugo fell through the air, feeling his spell struggle against the earth's pull. As his mind flooded with fear, he grasped for anything that might halt his fall. His sweaty fingers closed on stone, sliding off. His elbow knocked into the ledge, sending a jolt of pain through his arm. At the same time, the nails of his left hand rasped against the shelf, quickly losing their grip. Kicking violently, he searched for something to stand on, and in a moment, he slid half a dozen times.

Then, something arrested his fall, and Hugo found that his hand clasped precariously onto the ledge, holding him up a hair's breadth away from a deadly drop.

Hugo dared not swallow, keeping entirely still for a moment in order to gather his wits. He felt frightened half to death already, and he had to somehow convince himself that he was not going to die. Slowly, gingerly, his feet roamed for a place to find rest as his hand scratched against coarse stone.

((_Just… don't… think…_))

Taking his time, Hugo let his feet settle on the least insecure protrusions that he could find, feeling far from certain about it. With agonizing patience, he reached the arm that hung limp at his side up to grasp at the ledge. After what felt like minutes, his hand was clasped around an ornament shooting out from the castle wall just between two windows, and he dared move his cramped left hand at last.

With his goal so close at hand, Hugo wasted no time. ((_Better to be seen and thrown out than to throw myself down and never be seen again,_)) he thought sarcastically as he hoisted himself up. His heart pounded like a hammer upon the anvil when he finally pulled himself through the window and into the corridor. He felt that his knees were shaking, and he had to kneel down against the wall in order to rest his legs before they buckled beneath him. Letting his arms go limp against his sides, he closed his eyes and drew shuddering breaths.

((_Thank the spirits, I'm alive,_)) he rejoiced, massaging his weak legs. ((_I'll never do something so stupid again,_)) he vowed.

He had little time to recollect himself before he heard hurried steps ascend the staircase. Opening his eyes, Hugo found that his position was similar to where he had been on the third floor. The exception that proved that he had not imagined the dangerous ascent was an oaken door right in front of him.

Out of alternatives, Hugo stood up and bolted for the door, raising his fist. He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. ((_I've got to take my chances,_)) he decided. Stepping to the side, he pounded his fist against the door, calling any potential inhabitants.

There was no reply.

Hugo waited for six heartbeats, and then could wait no longer. The footsteps were fast approaching, and he would need a place to hide. Pulling open the door, Hugo braced himself and prayed to the spirits for a moment of good luck.

Looking into the room, Hugo found it empty.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he darted inside of the room and closed the door behind him without making too much noise. When he gazed about the room, he found that despite the limited space, it was the most luxurious abode that he had ever seen. The bed itself was fit for… well, someone that Hugo had never known. It was a monstrous construction; a robust piece of ornately carved red-tinged wood which posts reached from floor to ceiling. The bed seemed to be overflowing with sheets and pillows, and voluminous drapes spilled from the topmost beams. Other than the bed, there were shelves, tables, chairs, and—

—the door behind Hugo opened suddenly, shattering his awe-struck reverie.

"Stop loafing around and bring these cloaks to the wash room!" a voice called out. It belonged to the woman whose passing had startled him. ((_Damn! She must have heard me._))

Feeling a surge of anger at her, Hugo quickly dismissed it as irrational and took a quick step to the side, pressing up against a bookshelf. ((_Don't be an idiot. It's not her fault that I almost fell,_)) he told himself.

"Hey, did you see who that man was that just passed by? I don't remember seeing him before…" the woman asked absently. A bundle of dirty cloaks were tossed into the room, landing with surprising grace in a big pile on the brown carpet in the middle of the room.

Hugo said nothing, waiting for the woman to leave and hoping that she did not desire and answer to her question. It was a short vigil, as she had barely paused for long enough to toss the clothes into the room.

Kneeling down next to the cloaks, Hugo rifled through them and picked out the cleanest one. Clasping it around his shoulders, he found that it was a bit too short for him. He dismissed the notion of taking the time to search through them all for a better fit. Instead, he moved to the door and slipped through with one last glance at the bundle of cloaks on the floor. ((_Hah! They ironheads can't even handle their own clothes without help?_)) he thought, rolling his eyes.

He found the corridor empty, and the only noise he could hear was the sound of voices shouting from a distance on one of the below-lying floors. Making the most out of the opportunity, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and adjusted the Zexen cloak that he had taken.

As he stepped around the corner to where the stairwell laid, he drew a deep breath and prepared to, if necessary, break through and make a run for it.

Instead, to his surprise, he found that the stairs were unguarded.

Frowning, Hugo peered at his surroundings. He could have sworn he had heard muffled voices from this part of the corridor when he had passed through the window, and he would have assumed that the stairs would be guarded, as they had been on lower floors.

Hugo shrugged his shoulders, climbing the stairs with careful steps as he held onto the railing coursing along the right-hand wall. ((_Maybe they didn't think it'd be necessary. Really, what kind of dolt would climb the walls?_)) he thought, grimacing. ((_Still, it's a bit reckless not to keep guards, even here._))

When he reached the top step, he found the corridor abandoned. There were no guards, nor could he see or hear anyone else move through the dimly lit passage. Thin shafts of light shone in through the windows, but at this time of the day, the sun's angle would permit little illumination into the castle.

Hugo moved sideways, pressing up against the stone on the left-hand side of the corridor. He hugged the wall as he moved towards the closest door, trying to ignore his pounding heart. ((_Mighty spirits, was this a good idea?_)) he wondered to himself. He could guess at the answer. ((_Still, I've come this far. Now where is…_))

As he closed the distance between his own position and the closest door, he began to hear noises from within. Pausing to listen more intently, Hugo knelt down.

Someone was inside; he could tell that much for certain. As he listened, he could hear that the shuffles turned to steps, and then he heard someone grasp at the door's handle. His eyes confirmed it as the handle sunk, and the door opened.

Pressing his back against the wall, Hugo watched fearfully as a man left the room. It was a Zexen soldier, dressed in the garb of a common guardsman similar to those that had blocked his path at the eastern checkpoint. Hugo froze as the soldier hesitated outside the door. If he only looked to the right…

With a sudden twist, the soldier turned to his left, leaving his back at Hugo and proceeding down the corridor at a measured pace. Feeling a great deal of relief, Hugo wiped a hand's worth of sweat from his forehead and snuck after the soldier. He made sure that he padded only against the thick carpet as he followed in the other man's footsteps, doing his best to make no sound.

Even with his best efforts at stealth, Hugo was worried. ((_If he turns, at any time, he'll see me. I'd better hide and wait for him to pass._)) Looking around, Hugo could see no better place to find refuge than the room from which the soldier had come. Stepping back, he kept glancing over his shoulder as he slowly pulled at the handle. Oddly, the door seemed almost to swing open by itself, as though there were a weight pressed against it. When the door was just sufficiently ajar, he pushed himself through the aperture and stepped into the room.

It was similar to the one he had explored on the fourth floor. Glancing around the room, he could see the same type of bed, a collection of similar shelves and tables, a strange sort of contraption set with candles in the ceiling, and a man slumped against the door—

Hugo turned in one swift motion, taking a step back. Slumped against the door, a man's body had slid onto the floor. He was covered with blood, and around the macabre bundle, the carpet was dyed in crimson to match.

Spinning around, Hugo nearly stumbled as he pressed his hands against his mouth and suppressed the need to retch. He had never seen a dead person up close, and much less one so morbidly slain. As he shuddered, his eyes were drawn to another bundle, wrapped up in cotton blankets against the opposite corner of the room. The blankets were soaked through with blood.

Feeling light-headed in an instant, Hugo reacted in panic. Pushing open the door, he stepped out into the corridor and walked over to the nearest window. Leaning against the windowsill, he threw up his stomach's contents against the drab stone. ((_S-spirits, what happened here! That man… he was a Zexen soldier! Why would he…?_))

Though filled with fear, Hugo's mind was piqued with interest. As he used his cloak to wipe vomit from his mouth, he paused to think about the situation as rationally as he could manage. ((_If they find me now, they'll think I did it, no questions asked. If I flee… well, can I get out without being seen? Even if I manage to escape, it's going to be difficult to move around Zexen territory… and what about the truce! The letter! I can't become branded as a murderer! Spirits, this is a disaster!_))

Drawing a deep breath to keep the panic at bay, Hugo tapped his fingers against the stone wall in a nervous habit and raked through his hair with his free hand. ((_Alright, let's see. I need to find Chris Lightfellow and tell her just what happened. That's the only way I've got a shot at making them see my side of the story. It's going to be awful, but it's the best choice._))

Nodding to himself, Hugo started down the corridor. ((_Spirits, let me pick the right door when the time comes. I don't want to run into that damned elf, this time._))

Having resolved himself to find Chris Lightfellow, Hugo had forgotten all about stealth by the time he heard the sound of footsteps from the corridor ahead. Cursing himself in silence, he tried to duck into a niche before—

—but he was too late. The soldier stepped around the corner, looking straight at him. Hugo could only see a portion of the man's face underneath his pot helmet, but his features seemed impassive; cold as the grave.

The man took a step forward, drawing his sword. Hugo watched with amazement as the man's outline seemed to blur, then dissolved into mist that coalesced into another figure in a heartbeat.

A Karayan warrior stood before him, holding a long knife in his hand.

Hugo gaped, staring at the man. It seemed that they were both hesitant to move. Feeling anger rise within, Hugo glared at the warrior. "What are you doing?" he hissed. Even as he stared at the man's face, he could not recognize him. "Who are you?" he prompted.

Suddenly, the stranger wearing Karayan clothes turned, and his shape seemed to blur once more, bursting and recreating itself into the form of the soldier he had seen before. He had just enough time to see the man's back before he disappeared around the corner.

For a moment, Hugo found that he was petrified, shocked to the point of immobilization. Shaking his head, he regained the use of his limbs and set after the stranger. ((_It has to be magic! He's got to have some sort of rune!_ _But who! He's not Karayan! There's no way I wouldn't recognize him. How dare he wear our clan colors!_)) Outrage flooded Hugo's mind, and he was enveloped by a sense of righteous anger that seemed to have dispelled—or perhaps muted—the fear and shock within.

Chasing after the man, Hugo rounded the corner and found that he was alone in the corridor. Wherever the man had gone, he was not within sight. ((_Did he really have time to make it past the next corner? He must be in one of the rooms…_)) he thought.

Hugo saw the door move an inch, and he leapt forward. The door was swung ajar, and before he had time to register the soft humming voice, Hugo had drawn his knife and grabbed the person from behind. "Don't make a sound," he growled.

It was a smaller shape than he had imagined.

Looking down, Hugo saw the frightened eyes of the young boy from Chris Lightfellow's group stare back at him. Unable to conceal his surprise, Hugo quickly pulled his dagger from the boy's throat and pushed him away. "You!"

The boy seemed to want to say something, but his lips quivered with fear.

"Uh," Hugo began awkwardly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought… well, nevermind." He was speaking in a hurried voice, stumbling over the words. "I'm really sorry. You're a friend of Chris Lightfellow, right?"

"I-I'm her squire," the boy blurted out.

"I have no idea what that means. You know her, right? What's your name?" Hugo asked. Though the tried to keep his eyes on the boy, he kept peering to either side, expecting the stranger to leap out at him at any moment.

"Y-yes, I d-do… I'm L-l-l-louis."

"Louis?" Hugo wondered. Seeing the boy's nod, he tried to smile slightly. "I need to speak to Chris Lightfellow. I don't want to hurt anyone—I mean, I didn't come to fight—but there's someone here who's dangerous."

The boy—the squire, whatever that was—nodded slowly, seemingly too frightened to question what Hugo said. "A-alright, she's right in—"

Louis did not have time to finish his sentence before a man dressed in Karayan clothes burst into the corridor from a door further down the corridor. Hugo turned in an instant, raising his knife to defend himself against the assailant. "Damn you!" he called out, waiting for the attack with fingers slick with sweat.

To his surprise, the man—who spoke not a sound as he moved—darted towards Hugo, but suddenly veered off and raised his long knife against Louis. Though he saw the attack coming, Hugo knew that he was too late to block the stranger's path. "Watch out!" he called out in vain, leaping towards the boy.

Just as the stranger's weapon cut through the air, Hugo bowled into Louis and knocked the boy aside. The blade's edge passed over Hugo's shoulder, slitting open a rut before cutting across Louis' chest, opening a shallow wound that ran from stomach to throat.

Mortified, Hugo leapt to his feet and kicked at the warrior's legs. His limb swept the stranger's legs from underneath him, and as the man toppled, Hugo followed with his dagger. His stab was stopped by a clashing blade, and Hugo spun around, bringing his weapon up in the motion. The stranger parried the attack, but he betrayed a sluggish responsiveness. Their weapons clashed once, twice, and then Hugo buried his dagger in the stranger's arm.

Crying out his pride, Hugo quickly stamped his foot down on the man's primary wrist and sat down, raising his knife to mimic a killing blow "Who are you!" he shouted.

The man's face was impassive, neutral. It betrayed no emotion. As Hugo looked more closely, he thought that the face was somehow wrong; unfinished. It was like something out of a memory; not a true face, but an image you remember. He could also see that the clothes were subtly inconsistent. The pattern was off at several places, and the colors, though correct, arrayed in the wrong manner.

"What is the meaning of this!" he demanded to know.

Suddenly, the figure blurred, and in an instant, it had dissolved into a fluffy cloud of mist that evaporated even as Hugo sat back on his bottom, batting it away.

For a moment, Hugo was baffled, looking around to ensure that the man was truly gone, and searching for new dangers. Several seconds passed before his mind grasped the reality. ((_Louis!_)) he remembered.

Spinning around, Hugo dropped his knife and looked at the boy. The wound, though shallow, was life-threatening. Pressing his right hand against the blood flow in the boy's throat, Hugo released the power contained within his Wind Rune, praying that it would not be too late.

The translucent image of pale green appeared in front of his chest; a replica of the Wind Rune transmitted onto the air itself. His hand glowed, and the light passed onto Louis' throat. To his relief, Hugo could see that the wound was mending, knitting as he watched. Even so, he wondered if he had been quick enough.

Remembering the purpose of his visit, Hugo sighed as he untied the clasps on his bag and pulled out the Pentacle of Knighthood. "I guess I won't get the chance to deliver this, at least not now. I really hope you survive, Louis. Please give this to her," he mumbled, placing the iron star in the squire's lap.

"What in the name of the Goddess is the meaning of this!" a woman's voice shouted from behind his back.

Hugo felt his heart skip a beat, and he turned to see Chris Lightfellow storm out of her chambers. In the instant that he had to react, he could see that she had removed her breastplate, and wore something bulky beneath. In addition, her hair was unbraided, flowing freely.

"I-I…" Hugo began, bending down to grab his knife. "It wasn't me!" he shouted lamely.

Chris' eyes fell on Louis, and Hugo could see that white hot anger flooded through her eyes. "How _dare _you, barbarian! You would murder defenseless children!"

"N-no!" Hugo assured her, but he could see that she was in no mood to discuss. Her sword was out with the ring of iron on iron, and she stabbed the weapon towards him.

It was all he could do to divert the blade from his heart, but as he slammed his knife against the blade, it cut across his side. She was beyond words, now—just as he was, trying to survive. ((_I don't stand a chance! She's going to kill me!_)) he thought, feeling panic well up.

A sudden "KUEEEE!" from outside the window caught his attention, and Hugo felt his heart skip a beat. He narrowly parried a slash and rolled around, tricking the furious knight into overextending herself. ((_I've got to take my chances,_)) he thought grimly as he fended off two quick thrusts for his neck. He remained alive, but she had gained the upper hand the moment the duel began.

"KUEEEE!" he heard again, and he could tell that the sound was closer. From both sides of the corridor, he could see knights and soldiers rushing in to aid their captain, and Hugo heard furious yells from all around.

Stepping forward suddenly, Hugo managed to catch the all-out-offensive Chris off-guard and slammed the hilt of his dagger into her wrist. She hesitated for a second, but it was all that he needed. Taking a firm hold of the windowsill and grabbing his bag with his other hand, he launched himself through the window, knocking his head and shoulders painfully against the stone.

He could hear cries of surprise, anger and frustration as he sailed through the air, praying to all the spirits of the air and the earth that he had not made a terrible mistake. Feeling dizzy, he closed his eyes and prayed, too frightened to even look.

"KUEEE!"

The sound was close, and Hugo could feel the pressure of the gryphon's wing-beats. Daring to hope, he opened his eyes and saw feathers. Just as Fubar passed beneath him, he grabbed onto the gryphon's mane and held fast. The sensation of falling was replaced by the exhilarating feeling of being alive.

Crying out in exultation, Hugo turned to look back at the castle. Suddenly recalling his promise, he motioned Fubar to approach—a suggestion that the gryphon met with some consternation. As he approached, he cupped his hands and began to shout, but realized that his voice would drown in the wind. Activating the Wind Rune again, he tunneled a path through the air flow in order to make his voice carry.

"YOUR FATHER DIED A HEROIC DEATH!" he shouted awkwardly. ((_That's awful, but it'll have to do._)) He could feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

As he turned his mount, Hugo caught a glimpse of motion, and he instantly commanded Fubar to dive as he pulled his knife from its sheath, dropping his bag.

The arrow that shot from the window was swift, and true. Though he batted his knife at it, his strike was too slow. In the end, it was Hugo's quick reactions that saved them both; the arrow passed mere inches above Fubar's head.

Terrified of facing a continued hail of arrows, Hugo sheathed his dagger, dove, and wheeled Fubar around just in time to catch his falling bag before it hit the ground.

Moments later, they sailed for the horizon.

**-Chris-**

Chris was furious, but she had enough sense remaining to sheath her sword before someone innocent got hurt. Before managing to calm down, she had flailed the weapon like a rampaging wand, and it would have been only a matter of time before she had stabbed one of the knights that crowded around her. ((_That… vile… barbarian!_)) she thought, searching her mind without success for a weightier insult. She had to blame her upbringing for her lacking vocabulary. ((_What an outrage! And to bring my father into this… simply to hurt me!_))

"Milady," Borus cut in.

"Quiet!" Chris snapped. She felt a pang of guilt for her behavior, but her head was throbbing with pain and it was difficult to remain calm even without their voices added to the din.

Roland turned from the window, lowering his bow. Of all those present, the elf seemed the calmest. "Milady," he said in an apologetic voice, "The barbarian is out of range."

Chris sneered, but caught herself, pressing her lips together as she nodded. Drawing a deep breath, she pressed a calloused hand to her forehead and sighed. "Forgive me," she mumbled. "I lost my temper."

The knights made no attempt to reprimand her, giving an assortment of replies that she barely heard through the pounding of her skull.

Suddenly remembering what was important, Chris knelt down next to Louis' slumped form. "I am so sorry, Louis," she mumbled. "This was not meant to be." She could tell by the pale look on his face that he was beyond salvation. Even so, she pressed her left hand against his blood-stained stomach and invoked the power of her Water Rune.

As the rune's translucent image manifested itself, she felt a resonance, and gave a start. Bright blue light spread from her hand and enveloped the wound, but as the healing magic set in, a breeze of pleasant air summoned from nowhere caught Chris' hair and sent her locks tossing. "What…?" she breathed. ((_Someone has used magic on him! But… who? How is this possible? What did the barbarian do!_)) Chris leaned closer, oblivious to the insistent questions asked by her peers. Gently touching Louis' forehead, she tilted his head to the side and examined his neck. She could see the contours of a recently healed scar cutting across the squire's throat. A mortal blow, and one not healed by Chris' own magic. ((_This is… someone has used a Wind Rune to heal his wound! That's impossible!_))

She glanced down upon Louis' collapsed body, trying to make sense of what had occurred. As her eyes dropped, her jaw followed.

On Louis lap laid an iron star; a Pentacle of Knighthood. Her mind began to race.

It was the Lightfellow Pentacle.

**

* * *

**

**Author's Notes:** I can't remember whether Chris' horse was ever named in the game…? Feel free to correct me, but I chose to make up a name rather than search in vain for the potentially canonized name.

I should mention something: For the purposes of this story, the plot is played out three years later. That means that Hugo is 17, rather than 14. As for Chris, she's 23. (Yes, I know that technically, she's supposed to be 7 years older than Hugo, but whatever; at least I'm keeping my own continuity, unlike the good people at Konami!)


	4. Sunset Melody

Though inspired to write this chapter, I've procrastinated for a few days in order to become more comfortable with what I had in mind. I think that sometimes, the story that grows in your mind needs a firmer shape before it can be realized.

**Update:** I realized that Hugo's speech and thoughts were a bit too sophisticated, so I made some minor changes.

* * *

**-?-**

Sighing, she tapped the butt of her staff against the robust soil. Her eyes were fixed on the window through which she had observed the boy's spectacular flight from the castle. She, in turn, had opted to remain hidden under the cover of the trees in order to avoid detection.

She turned, but did not have time to take more than a few steps before she felt a familiar stab of pain in her mind. Stopping, she swiveled towards the source, pinpointing it with the tip of her staff.

She watched as shadows crept up between the trees, echoing an inhuman hunger that sent chills down her spine. The shadows dilated, separating into a fibrous mantle of darkness that wrapped around its center, quickly coalescing into a human shape.

A bright face smiled at her from underneath the brim of a black hat. Stepping forward, the man brushed imagined dust from the sleeves of his dark coat. "Having fun?" he asked, his voice a dark rasp.

She frowned. "Do not make pedestrian use of that rune of yours. You know that my mind is acute to these things," she admonished. She knew that her words would have little chance of impressing themselves upon him, but she was already irritated, and his childish antics darkened her mood.

He laughed. "You have no power over me, little girl."

"I know someone who does," she replied acidly, seeing with satisfaction that his smile faded.

He seemed otherwise unperturbed. "Have you improved?" he asked.

Understanding the question, she shook her head. "Not enough," she admitted. "It was destroyed by some boy from the Grasslands."

"So you failed? Your precious master will want to hear that," he snickered.

"Regardless, the objective was met. I did not fail," she said, controlling her flaring temper. ((_It is true; what happened might even be for the better. Still, that unpredicted factor is frustrating._))

With a snort, he clasped his hands around the hilts of his twin swords and flashed a predatory smile at her. By now, she knew that it was meant to unsettle her, and it failed to affect her. A moment passed in silence, and then he spoke. "I found what you wanted," he said.

She took a step towards him. "Let me see it."

He reached a gloved hand into his coat pocket, grasping the item. When he held up his clenched fist, a crimson glow emanated from within. He made her wait, opening his hand with excruciating slowness. She had to restrain herself from prying his fingers clear of the object.

((_I cannot let him see that he is getting to me,_)) she chided herself.

In the palm of his hand rested a bright red rune. The unfixed emblem hovered a hair above his black-clad fingers, spreading its warm glow.

"It must have been difficult to procure," she said.

"I had to ask nicely," he said sarcastically. "Just promise me one thing."

"What is that?" she wondered.

"I want to be there when you use it. It's going to be immensely satisfying."

For a moment, she was stunned by his callous words. Her heart sank as she nodded her head and saw the wicked smile that spread on his face. ((_Who are we to cooperate with such a blood-thirsty monster?_)) she wondered.

**-Chris-**

Despite the protests of her fellow knights, Chris took it upon herself to carry Louis' unconscious body into her chambers, depositing the pale squire upon her bed. Chris had been suspended in a shallow sleep when she had first heard the commotion, and the thick covers were creased and rumpled, showing that she had not bothered to prepare for sleep. Blood still seeped from Louis' flanks onto the bed, but she could see that the flow from the wound had stopped. As she knelt before the bed, Chris stared at the scar along his throat and frowned.

((_How did this happen? Who healed him?_)) she wondered.((_Louis was alone with the barbarian when I entered the corridor, and he was collapsed, then. The only person who could have done it is…But that makes no sense. Did he regret what he did? No, hardly. Perhaps he had wanted to question Louis before killing him?_))

Shaking her head, Chris dispelled that train of thought. ((_We shall have to ask him when we catch him_,)) she thought, clenching her fists and standing up. Whatever the case, Louis looked as thought he would survive, for now. Though she was fraught with worry, Chris resolved not to give any thought to something that she had no power over.

Crossing the room in four long strides, she shoved the door open with a careless push and stepped into the corridor just as a startled healer snuck past her. She turned her head and watched the man enter the room, seeing him walk up to the bed where Louis laid.

The knights were arrayed along the wall as she arrived, talking amongst each other. Noticing her presence, their voices fell silent, and Salome took a step towards her. "Milady, two of the guardsmen were found in a room around the corner. They had been killed, and dumped within. That is how the boy got this far, I suppose."

Chris felt anger welling up inside, but she pushed it down and managed to meet the statement with nothing but a simple nod. "Very well. Roland, Borus… You two will immediately pursue the assassin. If possible, I would like you to bring him in alive, but keep in mind that he is dangerous, and remorseless." She found herself spitting forth the last few words. ((_What a coward, attacking a child!_))

"As you command, milady," Borus said as she paused. "We'll leave at once." With a bow, he made to leave, but her voice stopped him.

"Wait, I am not done yet," she said. "It is likely that he is branded with runes to assist him in his task. Be careful. As I was saying; if you are placed in danger, do not hesitate to carry out justice forthwith."

"As you command," Borus repeated, and Roland echoed the words.

"By your leave, I will continue with the arrangements for the truce," Salome said. The statement sounded almost like a question.

"Of course," Chris said, nodding her head.

When the knights had left her sight, Chris found herself staring out of the window that the assassin had made his hazardous escape through. ((_I wonder if this attack was sanctioned by the clans… I hope that Roland and Borus manage to bring him back for questioning,_)) she thought.

She found that her hand had settled on the Lightfellow Pentacle that she now carried in a deep pocket near her chest. ((_Indeed, I have many questions for this boy._))

**-Hugo-**

The canopy rushed up beneath Hugo as he motioned Fubar towards a clearing. Leaves rustled and flew in all directions as the gryphon batted its wings against the surrounding branches. Hugo waited until the beast set down before leaping from its back. He was in no mood for acrobatics.

A throbbing pain lanced through his shoulder at a regular interval, and a similar pain emanated from the wound at his side. Kneeling onto the grassy ground, he grunted with effort as he activated his Wind Rune and pressed his hand to the wounds in turn. The flesh quickly knit and regenerated around the wound, leaving faint scars. As always, the healing was imperfect, and most of the pain remained. ((_Spirits, I'm tired. I want to just fall down and sleep._))

Hugo's heart skipped a beat as he heard voices, but he quickly recognized his own name being called from beyond the cover of trees and bushes. Groaning, he stood up and called out, "I'm here!"

Moments later, Sergeant Joe and Lulu burst into the clearing, pushing aside the branches of several tall bushes to reveal themselves. "Hugo!"

"You scared me," Hugo breathed. "I thought the knights were coming."

"No," Sergeant Joe began, but then quacked furiously. "Are you mad! How did you manage this? What have you done?"

Lulu ran to Hugo, examining his body for wounds. "Are you well, Hugo?"

Hugo grimaced, stretching his sore arms. He nodded at Lulu, and then turned to the sergeant. "It wasn't my fault."

Sergeant Joe glared at him with the most indignant expression on his face.

"Well, not really!" Hugo said hotly. ((_I didn't do anything wrong!_))

"What happened, then?" the sergeant demanded.

"Calm down and I'll tell you," Hugo said.

His companions' eyes went wider with each sentence as Hugo regaled them with the story of his incursion into Brass Castle, culminating in his meeting with Chris Lightfellow. When he told them about the absurd conclusion, they were rendered speechless for a moment. In the wake of the silence, their questions hailed against him, and he had to raise his voice in order to quiet them down.

"This is unbelievable," Sergeant Joe said. "I never thought that something like this could happen."

"It looks like you counting on it," Hugo said. He glanced back at where Fubar was curled up, craning its neck back to peck at its feathers.

The sergeant grunted. "I figured it would be best to stick close."

"So, what'll we do?" Lulu wondered. Despite his initial excitement at Hugo's story, the boy seemed nervous now. "Our mothers will be furious with us if we can't deliver the letter!"

Hugo shook his head. "Don't worry about our mothers. We're going to deliver the letter, anyway."

"No, _we _are not," Sergeant Joe said with conviction. "You two will return to Karaya immediately, and I will—"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Hugo wondered. "We'd have to go through Brass Castle to go home. We went through all the trouble of going through the checkpoints. I'm not turning back now."

"They'll be looking for you this side of the border," the sergeant assured him.

"Only an idiot would travel to the city if he just tried to kill someone around here. I don't think they'll be looking for us," Hugo suggested.

Sergeant Joe said nothing for a moment. He paced in a circle through the tall grass, quacking thoughtfully. He stabbed the end of his halberd into the ground as he moved, lending a ceremonious air to his ritual of nervousness. While he thought, Hugo and Lulu remained silent, sharing a glance.

"Alright," Sergeant Joe said eventually. "We'll carry on to the city. Perhaps there will be someone there you can talk to and explain what happened before you are run through by a sword."

Hugo nodded. "If we move quickly, we'll be there before word gets out about what happened. When we've delivered the letter, they won't suspect us, right? As long as we don't run into the knights while we're there."

"Perhaps," Sergeant Joe admitted. "Let's try not to rouse even _more_ suspicion, then."

Hugo nodded. "I'll try."

**-Chris-**

Chris was exhausted. She sat in a wicker chair that groaned under the weight of her armor, watching Louis' shallow breathing with great interest. Over the course of the past few days, she had slept for less than a total of four hours, and she felt ready to collapse. Still, sleep would not find her, and her head throbbed to the rhythm of the flickering candle on the nightstand.

Her thoughts inevitably turned to bleak things. ((_What will Louis' father say when he finds out that I let his son be attacked right underneath my nose? I feel so ashamed._)) Even worse, she felt an obligation towards Louis, and she was mortified by the thought of her squire dying. It was worry that kept her awake. Runes had done what they could for the boy, and now it was up to him whether he lived or died. Additional magic would simply add further strain to his body.

As her head sagged, Chris sank into a state of near-sleep in which dream and reality intermingled carelessly, weaving images that were difficult to make sense of. On the threshold between sleep and the waking world, she heard Louis call her name with a weak voice…

Sitting straight up with a sudden start, Chris stared at the bed with muddled eyes. She heard a voice, but could not quite grasp the words; saw motion, but could not decipher its meaning.

"M-madam," the voice whispered, coughing.

Bolting from her chair, Chris ran over to the bed. "Louis! You are awake!" ((_He is awake!_)) she sang in the silence of her mind.

"M-madam, I'm s-sorry…"

"For what? Do not be ridiculous," Chris said, putting her hand on the boy's forehead. She could feel that he was developing a severe fever.

"Madam, I have to tell you…"

"Do not speak, Louis. You are weak, and must rest," she commanded. She realized that she had been holding her breath, and released a deep sigh. "Even so," she said, drawing new breath, "I am so relieved to see that you are awake." A warm smile spread on her lips.

"N-no, I have to know… w-what happened to the boy?"

"The barbarian?" Chris asked, frowning. "Do not worry, Louis. We will catch him."

"Catch…?" Louis mumbled. "Madam, he survived?"

Chris sighed. "I am sorry, Louis. He managed to escape before we could apprehend him. Roland and Borus are chasing him as we speak; I swear that he will face justice for what he has done."

"W-what!" the squire blurted out, struggling to sit up.

"Be still!" Chris said firmly, pushing him back onto the bed. "You must not move; you will waste your strength."

Louis kept himself propped up on his elbows. "Madam, you do not understand!" he proclaimed. His voice had become more firm now. "It wasn't the boy who attacked me! It was a man in barbarian clothes, but the boy protected me!"

Chris stared at him. "Louis, what is it that you are saying? You have a fever; you are delirious."

Indeed, Louis spoke with a febrile heat in his voice. "No! Please, madam, hear me out. Please don't hurt him! He's not the one at fault! I'll tell you… you…" In the middle of the hurried sentence, his eyes lost their focus, and he collapsed back onto the bed.

"Louis!" Chris exclaimed, leaning forward to examine him. ((_He is still alive, but the fever will keep his mind wandering,_)) she decided. The squire had already begun to mumble incoherently in his sleep; further proof of his delusions.

Chris stepped away from the bed and extinguished the candle's flame with an absent wave of her hand. She walked back to the wicker chair and sat down, keeping her eyes on the unconscious boy. Her thoughts were in disarray.

((_Louis' story is unbelievable. It must be a product of the fever; the damage has jumbled his thoughts and made a mockery of his memories,_)) she reasoned. ((_Even so, Louis is not given to exaggerations or half-truths. If I could trust his memories, I would trust him as well._))

Her thoughts turned to the inconsistencies in his story, and came to rest on the matter of the healed wound. ((_The barbarian used rune magic to heal Louis' wound. Does this mean that this story could be true?_))

Regardless of what was the truth, Chris found that her mind would not rest until she had found it. She rose from her seat and hurriedly made her way to the door. ((_I will have to act quickly to reverse what has been set into motion…_)) she thought. Her heart was beginning to beat rapidly.

The knight stationed outside saluted her. "New orders, madam?"

"Yes. Send someone to watch over Louis. I am leaving."

"If I might ask," the knight said, "where are you—"

"I am going to rescind an order," she said.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo and his companions spent the remaining part of the day on the move, making their way towards the Zexen capital. The clear sky had become overcast, and a light drizzle of rain had begun to fall. Such rains were not uncommon in the Grasslands, but Hugo could hear the singing of the wind spirits, and their voices spoke of a terrible storm brewing. He could not help but feel that this storm was a dark omen of the times to come, and the thought darkened his temper.

Fubar's absence served to lower Hugo's spirits further. Though the three of them had agreed that the gryphon would draw too much attention, the result of the decision to send the beast away was that Hugo felt much less confident. He felt marginally better knowing that the gryphon was most likely somewhere nearby, though it was clever enough to remain hidden from humans.

The presence of farmlands had alerted them to the village, but when Hugo began to see houses in the distance, he found himself staring at the structures. Sergeant Joe had assured him that this village, Tarnay, was merely a small settlement compared to the capital, but Hugo could not imagine a larger city than the collection of houses on the horizon. He counted dozens of half-timber houses lined up in neat rows towards the center of the settlement, but could not decide how many there might be in total. Since it was late in the evening, the fields were abandoned, and the dirt streets that ran through the village were deserted except for those few people who were performing their last chores before nightfall. On the other side of the village, the sun was just about to withdraw from the horizon behind Zexen Forest.

((_It's a good thing that most people are inside by now. I don't want a lot of these ironheads to see us,_)) Hugo mused as they began to travel down the dirt road that split the village down the middle.

Together, they made an unusual trio of travelers, and Hugo found, to his discomfort, that the villagers who spotted them took to staring openly. The attention made him nervous; he could not help but worry that the news of what had happened at Brass Castle had already reached these people. The incident aside, it was clear to Hugo that they were on enemy territory. ((_These people think we're monsters. They're probably worried that we'll kill them in a heartbeat. What do they think of us!_)) he wondered. He was growing angry, but tried not to scowl as he strode straight-backed through the village. Glancing to his sides, he saw that Sergeant Joe was keeping his eyes forward and paying his surroundings no heed. Lulu was another matter. His friend kept staring back at the villagers, alternating nervous and menacing looks.

"Lulu, calm down," Hugo said gently. "You're acting weirdly. Remember that we've a good reason to be here."

"R-right," Lulu agreed. "It's just… it feels so strange."

"Yeah, it does," Hugo said with a nod.

They had reached an open square at the center of the village when Sergeant Joe quacked nervously, patting Hugo's sleeve with a feathered arm. "Look there," he said.

Hugo followed the duck's eyes and gave a start when he saw what they had focused on. Further down the road, two mounted figures were entering the village at a slow pace. At a distance, Hugo could see that they wore the armor of the Knights of Zexen. "Let's run," he said.

"No," Sergeant Joe said. "You should hide, and the two of us will speak to the knights. It will be less suspicious, and you're the one they're searching for. We'll meet outside of the village."

"Alright," Hugo agreed. Deciding that he had better make good his escape before the knights had spotted the three of them, Hugo quickly split away from his friends and hurriedly passed behind a house. Keeping away from windows and trying his best to remain unseen by the villagers, Hugo circled around the outskirts of Tarnay. Each time he leapt between two houses, he caught a glance of where Sergeant Joe and Lulu were speaking with the knights. Although the conversation seemed to have become prolonged, the knights showed no signs of hostility.

Hugo pressed his back against the wall of a house and slid sideways, moving slowly in order to remain unseen while he navigated between the houses in front of him. Ducking low, he crept by underneath an open window. He could hear the laughter of children and the voices of adults as an ironhead family enjoyed the evening dinner inside. He stood up, rounding the corner and—

A beastly roar rang through his head. Surprised, Hugo dropped flat to the ground and glanced around himself in desperation. ((_What's that!_)) he wondered.

Additional roars followed the first as the ground began to stir in a low rumble. Hugo rose to his knees in fear, and was shocked by the sight that greeted him.

From the edge of the village, dozens of lumbering beasts shambled in among the houses. To Hugo, the beasts looked like bears, but they had lizard scales for fur, and their eyes were eerie green orbs. In their midst ran several imposing figures, each one armed with a three-bladed glaive.

They were Lizard Clan warriors. Except that they were silent, and to Hugo's eye, each one was identical to the last, down to the tribal clothes. ((_Again! What're these things?_))

Hugo did not have time to think before the first of the beasts was upon him. The monster came running in swift strides, raising its paw to rake him with its sharp claws. Nearly panicking, Hugo managed to leap back and escape the beast's range. Its claws cut the air where he had been standing as he somersaulted and tapped the ground with his hands, landing on his feet and staggering back.

"Who'_re_ you!" Hugo called out as he separated his own weapon from its sheath. His words were aimed at anyone, but no one replied. All around him, screams rang out from the people of Tarnay as the foes began to drive deeper into the village. Hugo winced, raising his dagger to parry a brutal claw attack. His dagger withstood the strike, but he was pushed back by the force, and the beast leapt forward, slamming its shoulder straight into Hugo's stomach and bowling him over.

The blow took Hugo's breath away, and he fell onto the ground. His mind went dizzy as his head was knocked against the damp dirt. The beast stepped on his groin, producing a spectacular pain, and it raised its paw with a roar. Hugo's eyes struggled to focus as he raised his dagger and stabbed wildly. The beast screamed in pain as his blade sunk into its arm, causing it to rise onto its hind legs.

Hugo took the opportunity to roll to the side, and just as he moved, the beast slammed its paws down upon his previous bed. He leapt to his feet and reeled, steadying himself against the wall of a building just as the beast struck again. Hugo chose not to meet the attack, rolling to the side. When he came up, the beast had already turned and was aiming a swipe for his head. Ducking, Hugo felt the strike pass over his head, and he lunged.

Passing through the beast's guard, Hugo thrust his weapon towards his foe. His head still spun when the blade sunk deep into the beast's throat and drew a grave wound. Rolling away, Hugo was caught by a mighty blow and sent rolling. He bowled into the wall of the building, and when he staggered onto his knees, he found that the beast had collapsed, though it breathed still. He watched it for a moment, expecting it to disappear, like the fake Karayan.

The beast did not vanish, even as the rain pelted its corpse.

Wasting no time, Hugo got onto his feet and ran towards the screams that filled his ears. ((_What's going on here? Why's someone killing the ironheads? Someone's trying to blame the clans!_))

His thought was cut short when a Lizard Clan warrior stabbed his glaive at him. Blocking the attack, Hugo easily repelled the weapon and darted forward, stabbing for the man's arm. His attack drew a faint wound, but no blood emerged.

"Why are you doing this?" Hugo growled, expecting no reply.

The great reptile's mouth did not move, but a feminine voice issued from its core. "How fortunate that I will get the opportunity to dispose of you here. You have been helpful, boy, but you are worth more dead, I am afraid."

Hugo was shocked. "Who're you?" he pressed, desperate for an answer in the heat of the battle. ((_Answer me!_)) his mind screamed.

In reply, the reptile swung its glaive, nearly lopping Hugo's head off. Cursing his carelessness, Hugo took a step forward and clasped the haft of the glaive with his free hand. Continuing forward, he raised his dagger and drove it into the clansman's chest. Even though it happened in a matter of moments, he felt a strange guilt at striking a fellow clansman. Seeing the image evaporate into a thin mist as his dagger sunk to the hilt made him feel at ease. Had it been a true Lizard Clan warrior, Hugo felt certain that he would be dead.

Hugo ran between the houses, trying to decide where to go. He saw that the path out of the village was clear behind his back, and he felt a strong urge to run away.

Instead, he ran through an open door and stepped into a chaotic room. The wooden table at the center had been cracked and slammed aside, and one of the beasts was looming over a pair of children huddled in a corner. Shouting wordlessly as he charged, Hugo managed to get the beast's attention before it mauled the ironheads. The monster turned around and swept its powerful paws at Hugo. Dodging the attacks, Hugo used his momentum to deliver a massive stab to the beast's shoulder.

Howling, the monster flailed its arms in wild attacks as Hugo danced away. He stepped in closer and prepared to strike, but tripped on some sort of debris on the floor, falling face forward onto the beast's shoulder. The creature wasted no time, tearing its claws across Hugo's back. Screaming, he tried to escape the beast's clutches, squirming painfully.

Suddenly, Hugo saw a chair being broken against the monster's head. He had just enough time to see that one of the children—a small boy—had delivered the blow. Hugo felt a surge of thankfulness as he tore himself away from the beast and used the opening to stab its neck repeatedly. ((_Die!_))

As the beast slammed into the floor, Hugo turned to look at the children. Their eyes were filled with fear, and the boy that had struck the beast seemed petrified with shock. The other was sobbing uncontrollably. Looking to the floor, Hugo saw what it was that he had tripped upon.

On the floor laid the bodies of a man and a woman, torn horribly by the beast's claws. ((_Spirits… their parents. This is… too awful._))

Hugo felt a horrible sadness well up inside, and he forced himself to stop thinking. Turning his back to the children, he ran out of the building before his heart was buried within it.

Outside, three monsters and a small group of Lizard Clan warriors waited for him. Hugo stopped in his tracks, dodging just as a glaive buried itself in the wood right near the doorway.

"Come on! Let's see you fight, you coward! Your puppets don't stand a chance!" Hugo screamed, voicing his fury at the unknown woman. ((_Oh, spirits, I'm going to die._))

Raising his dagger, Hugo barely swept a glaive to the side and followed up with a botched parry against a beast's paw. The attack nearly knocked the dagger out of his hand, but he managed to hold his grip. He felt claws rake across his side, and cried out in pain.

"Charge!" someone called out. Another voice shouted without words. The sound of hoofs beating against the ground sounded over the din of battle, and two horses swept out from between two houses. Hugo parried a glaive with his dagger and looked up, seeing the two knights mounted upon the horses. One was armed with a sword, and the other swung an axe that caught the nearest beast in the neck and immediately caused the creature to crumple. Their armors were splattered with blood, and the rain had smeared it out. Their weapons were slick.

"What is this!" the black-haired knight shouted in surprise.

Hugo gritted his teeth as he stepped forward and buried his dagger in the arm of a Lizard Clan warrior. With a second strike, he thrust his blade into the image's stomach, and it evaporated as the others had. ((_I refuse to cry to the ironheads for help!_)) he thought stubbornly.

"What!" the older knight bellowed. "Illusions? What trickery is this!"

"Leo, there's no time!" his peer said, spurring his horse into a charge. He leaned down in the saddle and swung his sword with the speed of lightning, severing a monster's arm with the razor blade of his weapon. "Boy, run and hide!" he called out to Hugo, shooting him a stern glare.

Hugo returned the stare, refusing to back down. "No. Help me, if you want," he said. "For Karaya!" he shouted, ignoring his wounds as he leapt forward and began to circle the remaining monster, feinting and parrying.

The knight sneered, but said nothing. In moments, the three of them had turned the tide of the battle, and Hugo ran through the village, dispatching monsters and Lizard Clan illusions wherever he found them. His mind seemed to have become lost in a world where only fighting existed; everything was a blur, and he found it hard to focus on anything outside of staying alive.

"Hugo!" he heard someone call out.

Turning from the corpse of a lizard-like monster, he saw Sergeant Joe and Lulu approach. The sergeant's clothes and weapon were bloodied, and Lulu looked pale and weak, stumbling behind. Hugo felt a sudden wave of relief as reality came back to him. He smiled weakly.

As he ran towards them, Hugo saw the sergeant's face become twisted with shock. "Hugo, look out!" he called out.

Before he had time to see what was behind him, Hugo heard the sound of something whishing through the air, and he felt a sharp stab of pain in his leg. He screamed. His knees buckled, and he slid through the damp grass.

"There you are, barbarian!" a familiar voice called out from a distance. Hugo turned, staring from the arrow buried in the inside of his thigh to the knights who approached on horseback. It was the elf, and the blonde swordsman. Hugo blinked back tears of pain. ((_No! Not now!_)) he thought.

He could see Sergeant Joe and Lulu run towards him, shouting. From behind, he heard horses approach, and he heard the voices of the knights he had fought beside just moments before. In that moment, the world seemed to spin, and he tried to get his bearings.

Rainwater dripped from his forehead. The elf nocked an arrow.

((_No!_))

**-Chris-**

Since leaving Brass Castle, Chris had ridden almost without pause, driving Arrow Feather to the extent of her endurance. She felt guilt at taxing her horse to such a degree, but she felt that the need was sufficient. The new horseshoes were expertly set, for which she was grateful.

She had taken her chances, hoping that her hunch was correct. She suspected that the boy and his small group would be traveling towards Vinay del Zexay—she could see no other reason for Grasslanders to enter Zexen territory at this time. If what Louis had said was true, she had to assume that the boy had legitimate business in Zexen. Borus and Roland would no doubt have spent most of their time searching the surroundings of Brass Castle, attempting to root the assassin out.

((_Goddess, let me come in time,_)) she prayed. The urgency of her task was all that kept her from falling out of the saddle from weariness. She held onto Arrow Feather's reins with great effort, forcing herself to remain awake. The rain had increased in severity from a light drizzle to a full rain as she traveled, and her hair was slick with water.

The sun had set when she approached Tarnay, and she saw numerous lights from the windows of the village. Still, something seemed amiss. Many of the houses that were still visible in the dusk gloom were dark. When she came closer, she began to hear the shouts.

As her horse raced down the dirt road into the village, she was shocked to see villagers outside of their homes, huddling together or running between houses, seemingly getting ready to leave the village behind.

"What is going on here!" Chris bellowed.

"Silver Maiden!" someone called out. "The barbarians are attacking!"

Chris frowned, reining her horse in to trot along the road. "There has been an attack?"

The villagers' confidence seemed reinforced. They interrupted each other and spoke all at once, feeding her information about a raid that had, judging by their outrageous testimony, been carried out by roughly one thousand Lizard Clan warriors and about as many beasts from the storybooks.

Even so, there had been an attack. Chris wasted no time finding out the details, proceeding into the thick of the village. Keeping her eyes open, she began to see bodies littered around the village. Some were humans—villagers—but others belonged to strange scaled bears that had been stabbed or slashed to death. She could see no Lizard Clan warriors. ((_What does that mean?_)) she wondered.

"This is it, assassin!" she heard Roland's voice call out. "You will answer for your crime!"

Chris' heart skipped a beat. ((_I am not too late!_)) Still, she had to hurry. She heard the voices of many—Roland, Borus, Percival, and some others—speak in loud voices from the clearing behind the houses.

Just as she rounded a corner from the dirt road, Arrow Feather rose up on her hind legs and whinnied as a monster shambled towards her.

Drawing her sword, Chris shifted Arrow Feather to the side and made use of her momentum to drive the tip of her blade deep into the beast's shoulder. She pulled her sword from its body and quickly cut its throat open. Proceeding without hesitation, she crossed the corner.

The first thing that she saw was Roland, aiming an arrow at something. She followed his gaze and saw the dark-skinned boy on his knees. He had an arrow lodged in his leg, and his comrades were trying to reach him, but Leo and Percival were holding them off.

Borus stood before the boy. He raised his sword, smiling darkly. Before anyone had time to react, Chris leaned in the saddle and raised her sword. Just as Arrow Feather passed, she swung her sword.

Her blade clashed with Borus'. The knight looked up, and his eyes widened in shock. "Captain!" he called out, too speechless to speak.

"Knights, hold! There has been a mistake." ((_I am not sure of that, yet, but I need to impress the seriousness of the situation on them at once._))

The Duck Clan warrior pushed past the perplexed Leo and stepped up towards Chris. "Madam, we mean no harm. We have done your people no wrong. What happened in Brass Castle—"

"I will hear it from him," Chris interrupted.

The duck warrior seemed stunned, but somewhat relieved. He ran to the boy and checked the wound, quacking nervously.

"Louis woke up," Chris said. "He told me something about what happened."

Roland and Borus regarded her with shocked faces, while Leo and Percival seemed even more confused than they had been a moment before.

"What's happened?" Percival wondered.

"I will explain everything later," Chris assured him, and looked to the others. "For now, I will speak to the Karayan alone."

"What!" Borus protested.

"You heard me, Borus," she said.

"But—"

"Enough. Knights, gather the villagers and make sure that they are protected. There might still be… something out there. I will want a full report later." She looked at the duck warrior and the smaller Karayan boy. "Escort these guests out of the village when it is safe."

There were no protests.

**-?-**

She sighed, shaking her head. "That was unfortunate," she said.

The two cloaked men who stood by her side remained silent.

Pointing her staff towards the village, she glanced at them in turn. "It is time for you two to do your part. Target the boy, and the lady knight. Make sure that they do not make it out of here alive."

In unison, the two men swept their cloaks aside to free their right hands. The sound of clinking metal parts sounded through the rain-filled air as they grasped their rifles.

Without a word, they took off towards the houses.

**-Chris-**

The boy was reluctant to accept Chris' steadying arm, but his failing leg forced the matter while they located an abandoned building near the outskirts of the village. Within, she found that the room, which had been aglow with light and human warmth earlier this evening, had been violently reorganized. The dinner table had been broken in several places during the attack, and the remains had been tossed into the corner. Pieces of broken platters and mugs had assembled as debris on the floor among the shattered remnants of the family's belongings. Chris studied the room and sighed with relief when she realized that no dead villagers rested there.

Once inside, the boy quickly separated himself from her and stumbled over to the only chair that had not been broken in the struggle. He lifted it from its position on the floor and sat down, trying to conceal a groan. His hair, like hers, was slick with rainwater, but she could see that his body was torn by several wounds, some healed and some not. She felt a pang of guilt as she watched his miserable shape. ((_If I have made a mistake, this is my fault,_)) she thought. ((_Even so, he has not made this easy on me._)) She felt irritation rising back onto the surface of her mind.

The Grasslander began to cough violently, reaching for the arrow that had penetrated the inside of his thigh.

"Sit still," she said, kneeling before him.

"What're you doing?" he wondered stubbornly.

She gave him an impatient stare. ((_What does it look like I am doing?_)) "I am going to heal you," she stated calmly.

There had been time to don neither armor nor gauntlets before leaving Brass Castle, and for now, she was glad not to have to waste time removing them. Although the arrow wound looked like it was the gravest, she began with the simple wounds. When she activated her Water Rune, she could almost sense the rainwater outside shudder as it reacted to the rune. Blue light enveloped her hand and spread ghostly tendrils through the boy's wounds.

"The arrow must be dislodged," she said, deactivating the rune.

"I'll do it," the boy said.

She glanced up at his face and saw that his eyes flared with emotion. "No."

"I said I'll do it," he pressed. "I'm not a w—"

"Just be still, and be silent." ((_Stubborn child,_)) she added mentally. Without waiting for consent, Chris tore open the fabric of his loose brown pants, opening a gap around the arrow to lay the wound in his tan skin bare. She grabbed the shaft with her left hand and looked into his eyes.

He stared back at her in defiance. Chris flashed a grim smile and tore the arrow out in a single motion.

Although the boy did not scream as the arrowhead was ripped out of his flesh, his fingers closed on his hips and went pale with effort. He kept groaning in pain as she tossed the arrow aside. ((_It is a good thing that it was my comrade that shot him. Pulling _barbed_ arrows from wounds is not a pleasant thing,_)) she mused.

Blood began to well from the exacerbated wound, and Chris hurried to activate her rune. She placed her hand against the skin of his thigh and bathed the blood-stained gap in glow of the Water Rune, healing the most severe portion of the damage. The wound quickly knit, leaving a large red welt.

When she stood up, she could see that the boy was embarrassed. She snorted. "I suppose that you do not want help from an 'ironhead?'"

The boy averted his eyes and said nothing.

Chris sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You already know my name," she reminded him. "Would you mind telling me yours?" ((_I am rude, but it is really his fault for being so difficult._))

"Hugo," he said.

"Well, Hugo. Perhaps you would like to explain yourself?"

"Explain what?" he wondered, glowering at her.

"Boy, I found you outside of my room, with a dagger in your hand, standing over my wounded and unconscious squire. Start with that," she said sarcastically. ((_He is beginning to infuriate me._)) Realizing the potential danger that she was in, she resisted the urge to clasp the hilt of her sword.

"It wasn't me," he said glumly.

"But it was someone. Who, then?" she demanded to know.

Hugo shifted in his position, grimacing in pain as he moved his leg. "Fine, I'll tell you what happened," he said. "You wouldn't talk to me when we met in the street, but I had something to deliver, and something to tell you, so I went looking for you."

Chris ran her fingers through the wet strands of her hair, combing stray locks out of her face. ((_Something to deliver… it must be…_)) "What was it that you were going to deliver?" she questioned him. ((_I will draw no conclusions until he has finished,_)) she decided.

"Your father's ironhead thing; the pentacle," he said.

Despite anticipating the answer, Chris felt her blood pumping. ((_How did this come to pass? This raises more questions than it answers,_)) she thought. She waited to ask them.

Seeing that she would not speak, Hugo continued. "People were talking about you all over the place, so I found out where you were sleeping. I figured I'd just go visit you, but some of your ironheads told me I couldn't go up the stairs."

Chris frowned, feeling her anger flare. "So you killed them," she filled in.

"NO!" Hugo shouted, standing up. His face was furious, but his grimace betrayed the pain in his leg. "Karayans don't kill for sport."

"Then how could you possibly have gotten any further!" she wanted to know. She stared at his jade green eyes with the sternest look she could muster, hoping to impress upon him the gravity of the situation.

He did not falter. "I climbed," he sneered.

"You climbed," she said with lacking conviction.

"Yes," Hugo assured her, "I used my Wind Rune, and I climbed. Only between the third and the fourth floor, though."

"If that is true—"

"It _is_ true," he spat.

"As I said; if that is true, then that is remarkable," she admitted. ((_Not to mention absurd. What kind of fool would attempt to climb the walls of a castle?_)) She was baffled. ((_Even more… what kind of person _succeeds_ at it?_))

"To the fourth floor, you said. Then what?" she pressed.

"Then I snuck up the stairs; there wasn't anyone there—"

"What about the guards?"

"There wasn't anyone there," Hugo reiterated.

Chris kept her eyes fixed on his, trying to detect the slightest hint of a lie in his countenance. ((_He seems sincere… or convincing. I doubt that I could keep such a straight face through such an outrageous story._)) "Carry on," she commanded.

Hugo snorted, but did not protest. "Upstairs, I saw a soldier walking around, so I figured I'd hide until he was gone. I went into a room, and I found two dead guards."

"What?" Chris asked. "Who killed them?"

Hugo shook his head. "When I went back out, the soldier saw me, but he wasn't saying anything. Then, he… blurred… and then he looked like a Karayan."

Chris had raised her eyebrows and suspected that the look on her face was terribly patronizing. ((_How could any of this be true?_))

Undaunted by her disbelief, Hugo continued. "He didn't attack me, though. I asked him who he was, but he wouldn't say anything. Then in a moment, he looked like a Zexen soldier again, and he ran away from me."

"Why did he not attack you?" she wondered.

"I don't know. So then, I figured I'd better talk to you and tell you that someone was killing your guards, so I looked for your room. When Louis walked into the corridor, I was thinking it was the stranger, so I leapt around the door and—"

"And you cut him!" she finished his sentence in a furious tone. She jabbed a finger at his chest in accusation. ((_I knew it!_ _I was a fool to even doubt!_))

"NO!" he said. "Listen to me, you idiot!" he growled. "I saw that it was the kid, and I let him go. I told him I wanted to talk to you—"

"But he would not let you!" she guessed.

"Stop cutting me off!" he hollered.

"Do not call me an idiot!" she shouted back.

During the argument, the two of them had drawn closer and closer together as they stared each other down. To her surprise, Chris found that she had tilted her head slightly upwards to meet his face, mere inches away. Though she felt uncomfortable at such closeness, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her back down. Moments passed in silence before Hugo turned his head towards the window.

"Go on," she said.

Hugo did not look at her as he spoke. "The stranger came back, and he looked like a Karayan again. He really surprised me by attacking Louis, and I barely kept him from gutting the kid. When I fought him, I noticed that the man's clothes were all wrong. They weren't actually Karayan. Then I struck him, and he was gone."

"Gone?" Chris wondered.

"He turned to mist and was gone," he said with a shrug.

((_This is the most absurd story I have ever heard… but I cannot detect a lie, and it meshes with Louis' story. Perhaps he is telling the truth. If so… what forces are at work here?_)) "Then what?" she prodded. ((_I want to hear it from his own mouth._))

"I used my Wind Rune and tried to heal Louis."

She hesitated for a moment before giving him a reproving look. "How could you possibly have thought that it would be a good idea to _climb_ Brass Castle to speak with me?" She took a motherly tone. "The civilized thing to do would be to request an audience," she explained.

"I'm a barbarian, remember?" he snorted. "Besides, he told me…" He sighed, shaking his head as he trailed off. "It doesn't matter."

((_Who told you… what exactly?_)) she thought with a frown. Spreading her hands, she said, "I cannot figure out whether you are the best liar on this side of Harmonia, or an utter fool."

"I'm neither," he said with a glower.

She decided to change the subject and press another matter. "How did you come to possess the Lightfellow Pentacle?"

"Well," Hugo began, "it's because my friend was—"

Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he turned from the window. In a heartbeat, he lurched forward and threw himself against her before she had time to react. She heard a loud bang, followed by another.

Chris fell backwards and landed on the floor with Hugo on top of her. The wall had been torn in two places just behind where they had been standing, as though some projectile had slammed into the wood. When she glanced up, she saw a bright auburn light from outside the window. An instant later, she felt a sharp pain on her right arm. She yelped, and Hugo emitted a grunt of pain.

"What was that!" she wondered.

Rolling off of her, Hugo twisted his arm forward to examine his biceps. Right on his tanned skin, the image of a rune had been burned into his flesh; a mere shadow of the real thing. Chris stared at it in shock. The emblem was one which she had seen before.

It was the Hunter Rune.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I took the liberty of placing another Zexen village on the map: Tarnay. It might not be the last. Although I'm not that fond of mixing up the official geography, it seems logical to me that there would be more locations of note in the Grasslands than were shown in the game. A nation of Zexen's scope seems like it would need more than a single farming village to sustain it.

Those of you who remember the Hunter Rune from the games will come to realize that my interpretation of it is… slightly different. I won't reveal exactly what it does until next chapter!


	5. Beneath the Moonlight

I had expected this to be an easier chapter to write than the previous one, but I found that inspiration required a firmer nudge in order to get going here…

* * *

**-Hugo-**

Hugo kept his eyes on the gaping window as he rolled away, vainly pressing a hand against the aching brand on his arm. He had seen motion out of the corner of his eye, and had noticed the glint of a strange weapon at the last instant. From there, his reflexes seemed to have saved him.

"What happened?" Chris asked.

"Don't know," Hugo said. "Some sort of crossbows, but…" Glancing at the wall behind them, Hugo could see no projectiles where the wood grain had been penetrated. ((_That's not right,_)) he thought. He could see that Chris was watching the same spot, and her brows were furrowed. Outside, flashes of lightning beat a rhythm to the torrential ambience of rain.

"Perhaps it is a runic weapon," she suggested.

"Could be a bloody dragon for all I care," Hugo grunted. "Let's get out of here."

Chris responded automatically, speaking in a whisper. "I do not find that likely. A dragon would have—"

The cottage shook as flames struck against the wall, spilling in through the window. Hugo threw up his hands to shield his head and felt the heat against his naked arms.

"Would've what? Breathed fire?"

Chris gasped for breath. "Do not be absurd, it is far more likely that—"

"Oh, a Fire Rune? I was joking," Hugo said sarcastically. "…And now I'm leaving," he added.

"Agreed," she said.

The flames began to lick at the wooden braces as Hugo sprinted towards the door, stumbling over the debris. His steps were frenzied, but he managed to keep his balance as he hurried across the cottage's single chamber. He did not look back, but he heard Chris' footfalls against the wooden floor.

Tearing the door open, Hugo threw himself out of the building and laid flat onto the ground. He heard a loud bang, and a whistling sound passed over his head. Rolling to the side, he glanced at the building and found it to be glowing with internal fire. Chris had launched herself out of the house and scrambled around the corner to the opposite side of where they had been attacked.

The air resounded with the chorus of additional shots, and Hugo braced himself for pain. ((_Spirits, help me!_)) he thought in panic.

There was no pain.

Thinking that their assailants would have to reload at some point, Hugo leapt to his feet, skidding several steps in the muddy grass as the rain pelted his body. He ran around the corner and came face to face with Chris, who had drawn her sword and pointed it at him.

Seeing his face, she nodded grimly and turned to run.

((_Where are we going?_)) Hugo thought, gritting his teeth. He almost voiced the question aloud, but decided to keep his silence. He ran.

Chris wound an erratic path between the village's buildings, and at times, Hugo thought that she was running blindly. Nonetheless, he followed right on her trail.

((_You'd better know what you're doing!_))

**-Chris-**

Chris' heart beat like a drum as she ran through the village, winding her way past the buildings at the back of Tarnay. She knew the village well enough, and had resolved to make an unpredictable trail for their pursuers, in order to mask her destination. ((_They will assume that I do not know how the rune works. That is an advantage, albeit a small one._)) The sound of footfalls in the wet grass and mud sounded behind her, and she had to assume that it was Hugo who had chosen to follow her rather than to split up.

((_I wish I could find my comrades, but I believe that the chances are small. Besides, it would place them in danger. These are no ordinary foes. The Hunter Rune…_)) she thought.

Another shot rang through the air, and Chris was startled as the sound of splintering wood filled her ears. Glancing to her side, her blood froze for a moment as she saw the hole that the shot had punched through the wall. She swiveled, and saw motion on the opposite side. ((_They are flanking us!_))

With a quick glance at the nearby buildings, Chris took in the situation. Just as Hugo caught up with her, she grabbed his arm and twisted him towards the nearest door. "Quick, inside!" she hissed.

The barbarian did not hesitate to tear the door open, and within moments, they had crossed the threshold. The room within was a mess, and blood from several dead bodies had pooled around the dinner table. Chris swallowed and surveyed the stairs in the opposite corner.

"We can't hide in here!" Hugo exclaimed.

"We cannot hide _anywhere_," Chris remarked. She turned her head in time to catch the quizzical look on his face, but did not elaborate. Instead, she ran for the corner and took the twisting stairs in five long strides.

"What do you mean, we can't hide!" Hugo growled as he ascended the stairs.

"It is the runes," Chris said, rubbing at her sleeve where she had been branded. The ache remained.

"Huh?"

Chris ignored Hugo's confused utterance and looked around the room. The violence had not reached to the second floor of the building, and the beds placed around the walls were still made, waiting to be used. Rubbing at her temples, Chris turned to Hugo. "How skilled are you with that Wind Rune?" she wondered.

Hugo narrowed his eyes. "Good enough," he assured her. "What're you planning?"

Chris pressed against the wall. "Good enough to break a fall?"

"If it's short," he said. The two-toned locks of his hair were soaked and plastered against his face. Chris could not tell the sweat from the rainwater.

"There is a smaller home bordering this one, just outside the window. It is a slight leap, but since you are such a dare-devil, it should be of little consequence for you."

Hugo frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?

"Exactly what I said," Chris assured him. "Let us not waste any time."

Taking her own advice, Chris took two quick steps over to the window and grabbed onto the edges, stepping onto the windowsill. She wasted no time searching for the pursuers, and drew a deep breath. ((_Curse these bulky clothes!_)) she thought as she leapt.

She saw a faint green light out of the corner of her eye as she sailed through the air, and she felt a force push upwards from beneath her. The Water Rune on her right hand came to life, resonating with the touch of the Wind Rune, as though it opposed itself against the potential invasion.

Chris landed with a dull thud that echoed through the building beneath her. She fell forward and was sprawled onto her hands and knees when she heard a second thud against the roof behind her. She turned her head in time to see a flash of lightning illuminate Hugo. The barbarian stood confidently, but he crouched down when he saw her. It seemed to her that the leap had been as nothing to him.

"Once we are on the ground, I will rush the enemy and cut them down. You are free to go," she said.

"You idiot! You think you can rush them!"

"I need to protect my people," Chris said, keeping a stern face.

"You need to protect yourself," he countered, "We're the ones in danger here. The ironheads… your knights are looking out for the villagers, right?"

She shook her head. "I cannot abandon them."

"Fine, but if we fight here, we're gonna draw others into it."

Chris bit her lip, frowning at him. ((_Stubborn boy! Still, he has a point…_)) She drew a deep breath, and revised her plan.

"Once we are on the ground, run as fast as you can towards Zexen Forest. It is our best chance," she said, pointing to the side. Following her own direction, she turned her head from the boy to the looming trees at the edge of the village. In the darkness of the evening, the vanguard of twisted trunks formed an oppressive arcade.

"Gotcha," Hugo said, reaching out to clasp his hand in hers.

Accepting his assistance, she let him help her onto her feet. "Is that affirmative?" she wondered nervously.

"Didn't I just say so?"

Chris started to speak, but pressed her lips shut again with a slight shake of her head. ((_No matter,_)) she thought.

Hugo shrugged. "Need another boost?"

Chris nodded, then ran towards the edge of the building and leapt off. Once again, she felt strong winds push against her flailing legs and halt her descent. Hugo landed at her side an instant after she touched down. ((_I suppose he does not need the rune for something like this. He is agile…_)) she mused.

Neither of them wasted any time where they stood. Chris began to run, and as she sprinted towards the forest line, she tried to gauge the distance between the trees and the building. She realized that it would be a close call.

((_Goddess, please protect us!_))

**-Hugo-**

Despite Chris' recommendation, Hugo had to slow his pace as they raced towards the forest. Even without the cumbersome clothes the knight wore beneath her absent armor, she had neither the length nor the strength of his legs. She was well trained, but clearly not accustomed to sprinting.

Hugo breathed heavily as he ran, keeping his eyes fixed forward. He suppressed the desire to turn his head and attempt to spot their assailants in the dark. Normally, he would have felt safe enough in their deception not to worry about being caught before finding sanctuary in the forest, but Chris' words and actions had him perplexed. ((_What're these brands, anyway?_)) The thought sent chills down his spine.

They were just about to crest the small rise near the edge of the forest when Hugo heard a swishing sound and felt a sharp pain in the side of his thigh. He cried out in pain, and as his leg faltered, he slipped in the mud and lost his balance. In a heartbeat, he fell forward and slammed his jaw into the muddy grass. The pain sent a wave of anger through him as he struggled to find a handhold.

Sprawled against the slope, Hugo staved off panic. ((_Got to get out of the open!_)) He flexed the muscles of his thigh and heaved a sigh of fleeting relief as he determined that his leg had not been crippled. His feet kept slipping in the mud, and his body was mired in a slow descent down the incline.

Then he felt a hand clasp around his wrist, and he looked up to see Chris' determined face glare down at him. She gritted her teeth as she braced herself and used every ounce of her strength to pull at his arm. In two mighty tugs, she dragged him from his precarious perch and onto solid ground.

((_Spirits, she's stronger than she looks!_)) Hugo thought. He watched her in amazement for a moment as they resumed their sprint. Several loud bangs resounded between lightning strikes, alerting Hugo to the fact that their assailants remained close on their heel.

The knight pulled Hugo behind her by the wrist as they cleared the open field and entered a forest embraced by the shadows. Despite the embarrassment he felt at being pulled along by the woman, Hugo did not attempt to break her grip. Instead, he twisted his hand and nestled it into hers in order to better hold on to her. The forest was dark, and as much as he disliked it, being able to move quickly took precedence over his pride.

Only a portion of the driving rain that poured from the skies was allowed through the thick canopy of Zexen Forest, but the water found alternate routes through the leaf-work. Where it entered, it came in gushes. These gaps were outlined in pale silver; the glow of the full moon that had taken to the night sky while their attention had been elsewhere.

His leg smarted with each step, but the pain did not limit his speed; the wound must have been a glancing one. Hugo quickly overtook Chris and led the way, and the two of them ran recklessly through the unlit underbrush, tripping and stumbling through the unfamiliar terrain. Hugo held onto her hand with strength to match the urgency, and as they pressed their sweaty palms together, he knew that they would both feel the ache of each other's grips on the morrow. ((_If we make it out alive. Damn it!_))

For a time, neither spoke a word. Though Hugo had no notion of a destination and lacked the state of mind required to keep track of his direction, he felt as though each step along their haphazard path helped to stave off his demise. It was enough to keep the panic from overtaking his mind, but the rhythm of his heart sang of his worry as they traveled deeper and deeper into the forest. The knight's presence filled him with an unfamiliar sensation of comfort; a meager feeling of calm that seemed strangely significant in the face of the blinding terror. The night enshrouded their faces, masking his fear. For this, he was grateful.

Hostile bushes raked their thorny twigs across the fabric of his clothes and the skin of his limbs as he ran mindlessly through the obstacles. Low branches slapped his face, stinging his cheeks and forehead. Now and then, a sudden dip or a precarious rise caused either of them to stumble and fall, and then be wrenched from the ground by the other. When they were lucky, the falls were not too painful. ((_I've got to keep moving,_)) he thought, steeling himself.

Just as he passed through some unusually thick foliage, Hugo misplaced his foot and began to stumble down a muddy slope. He fought to keep his footing, but tumbled forward. He was about to make an involuntary somersault when he felt Chris' hand on his waist, pulling him back. He reacted by reaching out his hand, and found himself embracing her back as both of them struggled to remain standing.

When they reached the bottom of the slope, they found themselves standing in a small clearing outlined by the faint moonlight. The circle was ringed by trees and bushes, and a stretch of naked bedrock shot up from the forest floor.

Hugo paused for a moment in order to catch his breath. ((_Damn… I don't know how much longer I can take this,_)) he thought. ((_What about her…?_)) He could see the contours of Chris' face in the moonlight, but he could tell more from the hoarse sound of her ragged breathing. Like him, she seemed exhausted. In truth, Hugo was astounded that he had not collapsed earlier; he had been worn out ever since the debacle at Brass Castle. The trouble that had erupted in Tarnay had done nothing but add to his fatigue. ((_I had no idea I could do this._))

"O-okay…" he rasped. "We c-could probably rest here… for a while…"

"N-no," Chris breathed. "We have to keep moving."

"Why?" Hugo demanded. "What's going on?" He staggered onto his knees and pressed his palms against the wet grass.

"The… b-brands… They are created by Hunter Runes."

"Hunter… Rune? Never heard of them." Hugo said.

Chris went silent and took a few deep breaths in order to collect herself. She straightened her back and gazed calmly in the direction they had come from. When she spoke, her voice remained hoarse, but was even. "The Hunter Rune allows its bearer to mark her prey, even from a distance, with a brand that allows her to feel its exact presence across great distance. That is a quotation from the—"

"That's a what?" Hugo said with a frown.

"It is… from a book," she explained. "I have read about it, but never seen it before. Nonetheless, the brands on our arms are the marks of the Hunter Rune."

Hugo groaned as he straightened his back, remaining on his knees. Rainwater was falling onto his head and shoulders. "So let me get this straight," he said, pointing at her. "This 'Hunter Rune' is like a compass that points to us?"

"That is correct," she said. "In addition, the bearer of the Hunter Rune can sense all physical pain endured by its target, and…" she cleared her throat.

"And…?" Hugo wondered.

She drew a breath before continuing. "…and the hunter is filled with a bestial killing urge that will not abate until her prey has been slain."

Hugo stared at her. "So what you're saying is, start digging our graves?"

Chris sighed. "I had something a bit less fatalistic in mind."

"Well, how 'bout this? This means it's kill or be killed. You want to give the first option a shot?" Hugo asked seriously.

"That sounds preferable," Chris agreed, "but it will be difficult."

"Yeah, 'cause they've got our feathers all counted and ready to pluck. Isn't there any weakness in the rune?"

"Perhaps, but the book mentioned no such flaw," she said.

((_Damn. This won't be a dance,_)) Hugo thought. ((_I guess I'd be worried about dying, but it feels like I'm just… done with that, at least until I've had some sleep._)) His mind swam with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. Rising to his feet, he suppressed a sigh. "It won't matter how much we run, 'cause they'll catch up, and like you said, there's no place to hide."

"That is correct," Chris agreed.

((_So they're out there, somewhere… and they've got us pinpointed right down to the last damn step. Even worse, we've got no clue about where _they _are. Could be hiding just a stone's throw away… but I guess they'd have shot us by now, if they were._))

"We'd better keep running," Hugo said.

"No," Chris replied. She shook her head wearily, and her hands rubbed at her temples. "You had better keep running. I will remain here and face our assailants. With some luck, I will be able to—"

Hugo laughed hoarsely. "Come on, you don't want me to call you an idiot? Don't act like one," he spat. As he spoke, his face contorted in anger. "I'm not going to turn and run. I'm a Karayan."

Chris crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. "Child, listen to me," she said. Her face was a mask of calm detachment, and her lips were curved in a patronizing smile. "I am a knight—"

"—and I'm a warrior," Hugo interrupted. "What do you think you are, some kind of hero?"

Hugo could read a reaction in Chris; his words seemed to spark something in her, for her mask faltered. It was a momentary lapse, but he could tell that he had upset her. He could not help but smile.

"Do not be smug, child," she said icily. "It is unbecoming of a young man."

Hugo gritted his teeth and stared at her. "Don't call me—"

"There is simply no argument," Chris said. "I will remain, and you will go, and that is final." Her words carried the essence of ironhead arrogance, and Hugo found that his blood boiled.

"Enough!" Hugo shouted. He no longer cared whether he made noise or not; their assailants could sense them well enough without his help, and it did not seem to matter whether he kept silent or not. ((_Foul winds! They even feel our pain…_)) he thought in desperation. ((_There's only one thing to do…_))

Hugo drew his dagger in a single motion. "Sorry, but it's got to be like this," he said.

Chris cried out in shock as he struck.

**-?-**

Jorac gasped in surprise as he felt a brutal stab of pain from his quarry. His vision swam, and obtrusive twigs brushed against his face as he staggered onto his knees in the underbrush.

His partner reacted swiftly. "What's wrong?"

"P-pain…" he breathed.

"Did it stop moving?" the other wondered.

"Yes," he said. "What about yours?"

"Still moving."

The gunner forced his breath to slow and drew deeply from the chill night air. He could not help but clutch at his chest, as though the futile gesture would somehow alleviate the phantom pain. The Hunter Rune affixed upon the back of his right hand pulsated with a faint orange glow. He could feel its hunger, and the thrill of the hunt elevated his senses, driving his mind towards a crescendo that would erupt in euphoria once the kill had been made. As the memory of pain faded from his breast, elation took its place. ((_It's almost dead. I've just got to finish it._))

"It's still alive?" his partner asked.

"Yes," he confirmed. "But not for long. There's no way it could be conscious after taking a wound like that."

The other man grunted, causing the underbrush to crunch underfoot as he moved. "Their alliance didn't last for long," he remarked.

"No wonder," Jorac said as he started moving, "These people are hereditary enemies."

Once their trek had been resumed, they fell silent anew. He directed his full attention onto the terrain, using the small measure of night vision that he had trained to anticipate changes of elevation in the forest floor. To his great frustration, the pagans had managed to escape into the forest, thinking themselves safe within. In the darkness, even the pagans were unlikely to find their way through the forest, and had most likely resigned to find a hiding spot within and await the morning.

The pair had moved slowly, allowing the pagans to extend the distance between them, but their steps were deliberate, and they well knew the importance of patience in the hunt. It took a great portion of his self-control just to ignore the bloodlust that coursed through his veins. His heart pulsated in time with the Hunter Rune, causing his body to tingle with excitement. With each step, he fought to resist the urge of increasing his pace. The effort was only partially successful.

His breath quickened as he began to approach the location of the pagan. It had remained motionless, but the pain—and the connection—lingered. There could be no doubt that the pagan still lived. ((_Not for long… not for long…_)) he sang in his mind. He motioned for his partner to separate and follow his quarry, and he stepped into the clearing.

There, on the bedrock, rested his prey. The pagan remained still as he approached, pointing his rifle at the unconscious body. The Hunter Rune pulsated frenetically as its bloodlust erupted.

"Windmitfahrer," he said, invoking the name of his rifle, "Now we honor our ancient oath. The blood of the faithless, once spilt, becomes one with the Circle Rune. So it is written, so it is said. May the High Priest live for—"

He was right on top of the body when it moved. The shock petrified him for a moment, and that moment proved too long. Something bowled into his legs, and he lost his footing on the wet stone and fell. When he hit the ground, something cold bit into his throat and set his mind ablaze with pain.

The last thing he heard was a young man's voice. "S-sorry."

Jorac's anger faded in an instant. His mind marveled as a lifetime of pain and suffering evaporated. Then, there was oblivion.

He had become one with the Circle Rune.

**-Chris-**

Fear and anger waged a destructive battle for the domination of Chris' mind. Her clothes were soaked, and her hair was plastered against her face. Hugo's reckless act had forced her to go along with his impromptu plan, but it was only fury that sustained her now. ((_How dare he! What utter disregard for his own life!_)) she fumed.

There had been too little time to feel worried for her own safety when the barbarian had drawn his dagger, and before she knew it he had plunged his weapon into his own breast. The shock had stunned her, but as he staggered onto the ground, she had caught him and reacted through the use of her Water Rune. She had pulled the dagger from his chest and applied every bit of the healing power she could muster. Still, she did not know whether the boy would live or die. To leave him in the clearing galled her, but it had been the only choice that would not have rendered his careless gamble pointless.

Chris had fled deeper into the forest, but as she put some distance between Hugo and herself, she had turned to meander through the woods. In the darkness, her lonely flight was more than dangerous, and she had fallen several times. Cold and pain had dulled sensation in her limbs, and her clothes and face were covered with mud. ((_I do not believe I have ever been this tired in my life. Still, I have to keep going,_)) she resolved.

Eventually, she judged that it was time to turn back. Pushing an unseen branch from her face, she began to make her way in a direction that she believed was the opposite of the one she had left the clearing in. Her hand throbbed with pain as she grasped the hilt of her sword.

She had traveled only a short distance when she heard the familiar bang, and the bark splintered on the tree right near her head. Ducking behind the tree, Chris drew her sword and waited for a second attack. She resisted the strong urge to run. A few seconds passed.

Chris' heart skipped a beat when the second shot rang through the air. Instinctively, she had braced herself for the impact, but the attack had not hit her. ((_He must be on the opposite side of the trees,_)) she surmised. ((_He will not be for long._))

She remained still, and waited. Through the rain, she tried to pick out the sound of motion, but heard nothing. ((_So, he is waiting, as well_…)) she thought. ((_Goddess, please do not let the barbarian die. Tonight, our fates are intertwined._))

**-Hugo-**

Pain lanced through Hugo's body as he pushed himself onto his feet. His breast ached with every heartbeat, and the parts of his body that were not throbbing with pain had dulled, becoming numb. He shivered from the cold as he fought to keep his balance on the stone floor, and glanced at the corpse by his feet. A nauseous feeling welled up inside as he stared at the crumpled body, trying to make sense of his situation. ((_Spirits, I _killed_ someone. Mother… I… oh spirits…_)) his thoughts raced.

An orange radiance was emitted from underneath the sleeve of the stranger's cloak. Kneeling next to him, Hugo shifted the cloth to uncover the glowing Hunter Rune. With the death of its bearer, the rune had extracted itself from his skin and begun to hover half an inch above the back of his palm. Hugo reached out and snatched up the rune. Its ethereal shell of translucent crystal felt warm to the touch, and the pale light illuminated his dirty, wounded hand.

Pocketing the rune, Hugo stretched across the dead man and groaned as he picked up the strange weapon lying by his side. Turning it over in his hands, he tried to make sense of it. It was an instrument of wood, but iron details were placed seemingly at random along its length. The comparison to a crossbow faded in an instant as Hugo could not figure out how the projectile was launcher—or even what was launched.

Finding no simple means of using the weapon, Hugo discarded the idea of employing it against the dead man's comrade. On a whim, he decided to sling the weapon across his shoulder by the leather strap, and quickly removed the drab grey cloak from its dead owner. Donning the garment, he started through the forest. ((_I've got to hurry. I can't let that bastard kill the ironhead,_)) he thought. ((_She'd better not be dead already._))

**-Chris-**

((_He is patient,_)) Chris thought. ((_Could he have circled around? No, I would have heard him move from his spot… unless he was out of earshot when he struck._)) Her mind raced through the possibilities, and her heart beat in tune with her worry. She was beginning to tire: She felt as though hours on end had passed since she and Hugo had entered the forest, but she could see that the sunrise was still far off.

Suddenly, she heard plants crunch under someone's footfall. She froze, tensing her grip on the hilt of her sword.

The footsteps continued towards her, and she heard the chirp of a strange bird from elsewhere. Confused, she remained in hiding, waiting for an opportunity to arise.

Suddenly, she heard heavy breathing. Rising to her feet, she reached out and grabbed something, pulling furiously at it. The figure grunted in surprise as he fell forward and sprawled before her. Kneeling, Chris placed her sword against his throat and gritted her teeth—

—staring right into Hugo's eyes.

"You!" she hissed. ((_He is alive!_))

Hugo groaned, nodding. She could see relief pass over his features—elation at finding out that he had not been ambushed by their assailants, perhaps.

"The other guy's dead," he whispered.

Chris' jaw dropped. She nodded. "There is someone nearby, waiting for me to move."

"Let me go, and I'll root him out," Hugo assured her.

She stared at him in confusion for a moment before she realized that he was right. She was gripping his arm, pushing him down while she held the blade of her sword against his throat. She quickly pulled her weapon away and dragged him onto his hands and knees.

Her heart beat rapidly as she watched Hugo sneak away into the underbrush. She realized with a start that he was wearing a cloak that she had to assume came from the man that he had killed. ((_Perhaps we will get out of this alive…_)) she thought. She had not dared believe it until now.

Chris waited until Hugo had been gone for about a minute before she made her move. Keeping her head down, she threw herself out from her cover and scrambled through the underbrush, bowling through thorny bushes.

Within a second, a shot rang through the air, and she felt something graze her back. The pain made her gasp, and she quickly rolled aside. ((_Just a few seconds, and then another shot…_))

She heard a branch snap loudly, and then she heard Hugo yell. The sounds of a struggle sounded in the rainstorm as Chris wiped wet strands of hair from her face and ran towards the noise. ((_Please, do not let him shoot me now,_)) she thought.

Just as she raised her sword, her knee slammed against a low branch, and she tumbled forward. She dropped her sword and pressed her palms against the ground, landing with relative grace. In desperation, she felt around for her weapon, and her heart rose in jubilation as her fingers closed around the blade. She carelessly shifted the weapon to reach the hilt and kept running.

When she broke through the bushes, she saw two cloaked figures wrestling. For a moment, she could not tell who was who, and approached with caution. She kept her sword up, and waited for a sign.

With a disgusted roar, one of the figures tore himself away and slammed a backhand blow into the other's head. The beaten figure was knocked onto the ground, and Chris saw the attacker raise its strange weapon. She needed no more confirmation.

Lunging, Chris slapped the wooden instrument down just as it was fired, causing the projectile to fly wide. The figure turned and drew a short sword from its hip in time to meet Chris' attack.

Her first thrust was turned aside, and she tried to convert her remaining energy into speed. Several more slashes and stabs were parried or evaded by the agile man as she moved by rote through a pattern of attacks.

She feinted, and the man sensed an opening. His attack was precise, but she anticipated it, and batted the sword aside with her own weapon. Stepping in closer, she slammed her hilt into his wrist and pressed the blade against his neck before he could react.

He had just enough time to groan from the pain in his wrist when she slit his throat. He gurgled, and fell down. Exhausted, Chris mimicked him.

She was asleep before she hit the ground.

**-Hugo-**

In the aftermath of the desperate battle, Hugo had stripped the second man of his belongings, adding a second Hunter Rune and the assassin's Fire Rune to his collection. He had wrapped Chris in the man's cloak and tried to lift her, only to find that he no longer had the strength to carry her. His head swam with pain, weariness and lingering fear as he dragged the unconscious knight through the underbrush.

He had come to a clearing when he realized something. ((_Wait, what am I doing? I can't drag her all the way back to the village. I'd better just find some cover and… collapse._)) He had no inkling of why he had not fallen asleep on the spot, as she had, but suspected that he little more to offer. His vision blurred, and he had trouble focusing. His thoughts were a jumble as he turned to look at the woman who was sprawled out on the forest floor. She was a mess; if he had seen her for the first time like this, he would have found the notion that she might be a knight laughable. ((_Still, she does look—_))

Before he had finished the thought, he collapsed beneath the cover of the trees. His thoughts leapt from waking confusion to incoherent dreaming.

**-Chris-**

The rain had abated slightly when Chris opened her eyes to the gray sky of the early morning. The sun had yet to rise, but the night had passed in silence. She idly thought that she could hear water, but when she stared at the sky, she could see that the rain had stopped.

She propped herself up on her elbows and examined her surroundings. She was sprawled beneath the canopy of a great willow, right at the edge of a beautiful clearing split in half by a clear brook—the source of the sound that her confused mind had heard. The ground beneath her was comprised of wet grass and mud, but she felt strangely comfortable with her bed.

Glancing to her side, she saw Hugo, peacefully asleep within arm's reach. She felt a pang of fear as she saw how beaten up he looked and she had to convince herself that he was still breathing before she calmed down.

Regretting her decision already, she decided that she could not linger here. ((_The knights will be searching for me. I have duties to attend to… I cannot remain here,_)) she thought ruefully.

She tried to rise, but found that her arms were too weak. Sighing, she leaned back against the wet grass underneath her head. She made several more attempts to stand up, but met with little success. Finally, she gave up, and resigned herself to go back to sleep.

Though her body ached, she could no longer feel her headache.

"That is odd," she mumbled.

She was asleep within moments.

**-?-**

It was well after noon when she stepped into the Council Hall. The oaken walls were tastelessly adorned with extricate carvings clearly meant to accentuate the wealth of the building's inhabitants, and each garish ornament seemed to have been chosen to maximize the opulent ambience. ((_A thoroughly reprehensible interior,_)) she thought.

The people that met her as she stepped through the halls and ascended the stairs left her unmolested, bowing and scraping as she passed. For this purpose, she had selected the form of an imposing man she had spied in the city during the morning. She felt uncomfortable hiding behind an illusion, but the convenience greatly outweighed the distress. ((_Many things must be sacrificed for his ambitions to be realized. I must apply myself thoroughly,_)) she chided herself.

She pushed the door open and stepped unceremoniously into the council's chamber. She heard voices through the open door, but they quieted as she entered. Aside from the councilors, several aides and visitors were arrayed around the octagonal table. All eyes rested on her.

"What is the meaning of this, Captain Harke?" a fat councilor demanded, rising from his seat.

She tapped the butt of her staff against the carpeted floor, ending the illusion. Gasps of shock and confusion resounded through the room. She heard a sword leaving its sheath somewhere to her left.

Smoothing her dark skirt, she took a step forward. "I am Sarah," she said, sweeping her gaze over the councilors, "A messenger from the Holy Kingdom of Harmonia."

The expressions on the faces of the seven men who were seated around the table changed from indignation to shock.

Sarah smiled.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I love writing arguments. In Sweden, we have a saying that translates as "love often starts with a quarrel." Although these words are most often used teasingly in order to _end_ arguments between children of opposite genders (the concept of "cooties" is powerful in all languages), I believe that there is a great deal of truth in the statement. I think it's romantic. : )

It's easy to become blinded when you're staring at your own writing. If you don't mind, I would love to get some reviews, regardless of whether you liked the chapter/story or not. Did you like/dislike something specific? Do you think that I made a mistake, or wasted the opportunity to do something more interesting? I'm open to any and all comments!


	6. Currents

There are more points of view than usual in this chapter: I felt that the pace and scope of this chapter and the next one requires shorter passages in order to keep the correct tempo. I hope that it will be entertaining.

* * *

**-Sarah-**

Sarah's declaration was met with stunned silence as the councilors struggled to take stock of the situation. The servants and assistants whose meanderings had caused the room to hum with activity when Sarah entered now awaited the council's response with bated breath. Though she spared them no glance, she knew that all eyes were fixed on her.

Despite the passage of a mere few seconds, the pause had become poignant. ((_These people are unprepared, and uncommitted. That will have to change,_)) she concluded.

When the head councilor spoke, his words were not directed at Sarah. "Leave us," he said. "Everyone, out." His voice cracked slightly and betrayed his worry.

Sarah took a casual step forward to allow the inconsequential minions to filter out behind her. She heard the door close with a light thud, and she smiled.

Some of the councilors took it as a sign of warmth, and seemed to relax. "Please, have a seat," the head councilor said, motioning for the chair nearest to the door.

"No," Sarah said. "I choose to stand." ((_Do not presume to seat me in the same chair that you use to lord over your underlings._)) The words remained silent in her mind, but a broad smile creased her lips involuntarily. She allowed it to play out, and then became serious again. The gesture caused the councilmen to shift in their chairs.

"Very well," the head councilor said. "What… brings you here, Lady Sarah?"

"I represent Holy Harmonia. I have come to discuss the matter of our alliance," she stated.

Pale faces searched each other as the councilors fidgeted in their seats. One of the other councilors was the first to speak. "We… never expected an emissary. This is a bit…" He paused to swallow. "…daring. We mustn't let the people know what will happen before, uh, before it has happened."

"That is your concern, not mine," Sarah explained. She tapped her staff against the carpet as she walked around the octagonal table with calm steps.

"B-be that as it may…" another councilor spoke up, twisting his head to look at Sarah as she passed behind his chair, "but remember that Harmonia requires the assistance of the council."

"Holy Harmonia," Sarah corrected, "_wishes_ to have the assistance of _the Zexen Confederacy_. If your council proves unwilling… or unprepared… to offer that assistance…" She paused to shrug her shoulders.

"We represent the people of Zexen," the head councilor said, clearing his throat. "What Holy Harmonia wishes, we can provide. Rest assured of this, Lady Sarah."

"Indeed. Let me explain to you exactly what Holy Harmonia wishes, and then you can inform me about what the council requires," she said. On her path around the table, Sarah had chosen to stop behind the head councilor's chair, putting him and the others in a most uncomfortable position. The fact that none of them objected was evidence of the position that the council held in relation to Holy Harmonia. ((_It is absurd that they are allowing a mere messenger to treat them in this fashion,_)) she thought.

It was absurd, but convenient.

**-Hugo-**

Sunlight colored the edges of the canopy in hues of bronze and basked Hugo's face in light as he began to awaken. The first light was glaring, and he had to use his hand to cover his face as he roused. He groaned, and searched his mind. ((_Why am I… outside? Is this… the forest?_)) he wondered. His thoughts began to assemble as he pushed himself onto his elbows and shook his head. Fragmented memories of the night found their way to the surface, and he turned his head.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the woman that was sprawled out on the grass. Her face was beautiful, even stained with mud as it were. Her hair was dirty and disheveled, and she looked nothing like the first time he had seen her, astride her horse. His weary mind grasped for an answer, and the memories returned. ((_Spirits, we're… alive? Somehow, we… oh, right…_))

Standing up, Hugo brushed dirt from his clothes. Feeling embarrassed, he averted his eyes and took the time to unstrap his bag from his back and place it on the ground. He tried to keep his gaze locked on the contents within as he rummaged through the cloth container, but he could not help but steal glances at the sleeping woman. ((_Ugh. I have no reason to be embarrassed. I've done nothing wrong!_)) he tried to convince himself. Still, the position he had found himself in seemed inexplicably strange. ((_She's an ironhead—spirits damn them—and she'd probably cut me down in a heartbeat if she caught me looking at her when she's sleeping. If she'd been a Karayan… or even a Grasslander…_)) Seeing that his thoughts led him down absurd paths, he abandoned the rationalization.

((_I'd better get out of here before she wakes up,_)) he decided.

He had gotten about five steps along his way when he remembered something. ((_The runes…_)) he thought. Reaching into a side pocket on his bag, he pulled out a trio of glowing red and orange runes. Hunter Runes and Fire Rune alike had retreated into their Water Crystal shells following the deaths of their masters, and as Hugo held them in his hand, the emblems suspended themselves an inch above his skin.

((_Well, what's that old saying mother likes…? In the Grasslands, only a fool would give a Fire Rune to his worst foe. Friend or foe, only an idiot would give a Fire Rune to an ironhead,_)) Hugo thought with a nervous glance at the surrounding forest. ((_But this…_)) He cast a quick glance at the runes before returning two out of three to their pocket.

Kneeling next to Chris, Hugo sought a pocket in the sleeping knight's clothing. He bent down over her sleeping form as he slipped the Hunter Rune into a spacious side pouch.

The next moment, Hugo felt something tug painfully at his neck, and he was pressed against her. "Ack!"

"What are you doing!" Chris snarled.

The knight had caught his neck in the crook of her elbow and held him down. Hugo tried to squirm loose, but the hold was practiced, and her grip was as strong as it was painful. Raising his eyes, Hugo stared into Chris' furious features. "I-I was just…giving you…"

"My death blow!" she finished. In a moment, she twisted Hugo around and pinned him against the ground, thrusting her knee against his thighs as she pressed her elbow to his throat. She spoke again, as he gasped for air. "Is that it? Now that you are no longer in danger, you are taking your opportunity to get rid of a hated foe?" She sounded furious.

"N-no," Hugo breathed. "I wasn't…" Within her grip, it was impossible to move, and difficult to speak. ((_Let me speak!_))

"I do not trust you," Chris confided. Her face was red with fury. "You barbarians are belligerent creatures, quick to kill when you are pushed. I have lost…" She hesitated, drawing a deep breath. Her features cooled, and she relaxed her grip slightly. "No, you are not…" She sighed, shaking her head. Standing up, she released him.

"What's wrong with you!" Hugo spat, leaping to his feet. "Spirits, calm down!" ((_Spirits damn the ironheads!_))

"Enough. It is time we parted. For what it is worth, I would not have survived without your help, and I thank you for that. As for what happened at Brass Castle… I will take your word for it, for now. But—"

"Forget it," Hugo said. "I'm not going to listen to your dirt. I'm leaving." He swiveled on his heel and began to walk away. He heard her protest, but did not listen. ((_It's just like Dupa says; they're born fools._)) His heart was aflame with indignant anger.

It was not until he was well out of sight that he realized that he was going the wrong way.

**-Rean-**

Clasping his hands on the table, Councilor Rean glared at the door as though adding the imprint of his fury to the carvings upon its wooden surface. The Harmonian emissary, Sarah, had left moments ago, and with her passing, the room had fallen into a dreary silence. The councilors waited for Rean to break it, and he in turn waited for his emotions to calm. ((_Hmph. It seems I've grown accustomed to sycophants. I've forgotten the noble art of brownnosing that brought me this far,_)) he mused. He finished the thought aloud. "I suppose we should learn from this. We may be highest in Zexen, but in Harmonia… the high are high indeed."

His sudden words startled Councilor Haman. "Y-yes…"

"What can we do?" Lekshan wondered. Nervousness added a thick vein to his rasping voice.

"We'll do what we've always done," Councilor Inek replied. He rose from his chair and leaned against the table on his palms, as if to boost the weight of his words.

"Which is what!" Haman wanted to know.

"Sit down, Inek," Rean said firmly. A quick glance at Haman kept the man from rising as well. "You are right, though. We'll keep doing what we do best. Harmonia or not, we have to keep the best interest of the council in mind."

"Yes," Lekshan said, nodding his fat head as if to convince himself.

((_We stand upon the tip of a sword, walking along the edge of the blade… but on the hilt waits a most glorious pommel jewel. We can still turn this to our advantage,_)) Rean thought.

"Fetch Sir Alron, and that woman… what's her name…"

"Ennia?" Haman blurted out.

Rean fixed his eyes on the councilor. "This hardly strikes me as the proper time for that sort of thing." ((_Idiot._)) "No, I mean that woman who helped us with the Galahad situation."

"I believe her name is Jena Farlan," Lekshan muttered.

"That's right," Inek concurred.

"Well, fetch them," Rean said.

For a time, no one moved. The councilors exchanged glances, and all of them seemed to be equally confused. After a few moments, Inek ventured to speak. "Err, it occurs to me that we sent all of our attendants away. I suppose one of us will have to…"

"Indeed. If you please, Inek?"

"Oh… of course," the councilor said, standing up. He walked over to the door and, pulling it open, shouted for the attendants to return.

Rean leaned against the back of his chair and stroked his mustache nervously. As his eyes roamed the walls, they fell upon an oil painting of a lonely ship on tumultuous seas. The vessel's sails were torn, and the mizzenmast was threatening to crack, but the ship remained afloat. The scene was one which Rean had always found inspiring, but never as relevant as now.

((_Even without sails, it is possible to arrive at one's destination. By choosing your course well before you loose your locomotion, you can still dictate your own outcome._))

**-Chris-**

Chris shambled into the village on tired legs. Sleep had cleared her mind, but her body remained exhausted. The respite she had been given was barely fit for the day's activities, but it was enough. ((_It has to be enough._))

Tarnay seemed no better off. The village was marked by the conflict, and the sight of torched houses and broken debris brought Chris back to the matters at hand. ((_The boy will have to wait._)) The lives that had been lost were irreplaceable, demanding justice to appease the hatred of the living, but the village itself would need repairs. ((_The most important thing is to normalize life as soon as possible. That, however, is not the duty of the knights. Our task will be… more grim,_)) she thought, sighing.

Despite the destruction, Chris was not alone on the streets. The air was lively with voices and the sounds of activity as she passed through. The villagers were carting off wreckage—human as well as structural—and the din of hammers told her that the repairs had already begun. She could also tell that many of those who toiled in the village were outsiders. ((_So, it has been organized already. Excellent,_)) she thought.

Chris was thankful for the business of the village's inhabitants. Disheveled as she was, she did not relish the thought of being recognized. ((_Captain Galahad, what would you say if you saw one of your knights in such a state…?_))

Just as she finished the thought, Chris saw a more proper example of knighthood. Percival stood to the side of the dirt road, receiving the concerns of about a dozen villagers arranged in a semi-circle around him. The knight had an unusually serious look on his face, and seemed concentrated; intent on what he was hearing. Occasionally, he would nod or say a few words that Chris could not yet hear as she approached. In his hands, he held the tethers of two horses: His own, and Arrow Feather.

"Percival," she called out as she approached.

Percival's face turned, and he searched hers for a moment, looking confused. He was not the first to respond.

"That's _Sir_ Percival, lass, and don't come interrupting!" a gnarly old woman snapped.

"If ye want to speak, get in line!" another villager amended.

For a moment, Chris could not think of what to say. ((_They do not recognize me… of course. It must seem discourteous._)) She nodded. "I will wait."

The wild look in Percival's eyes told her that _he _at least had recognized her. He glanced between her and the crowd—who had wasted no time launching back into their harangues of complaints directed at the knight—and seemed at a loss for words. After a few awkward moments, Percival made his decision. "Now, this lady has an urgent message I've been waiting for. I'm terribly sorry, but I've got to hear it out. By your leave…" Percival said, bowing his head. Without a word, he walked up to Chris and handed her Arrow Feather's tethers. They walked side by side as they distanced themselves from the disgruntled crowd. Chris felt great relief that Percival had opted to protect her anonymity.

"Milady," Percival said at last. "Thank the Goddess; we've all been worried. Borus has been frantic; I've been worried that he'd lose his mind." He sighed, flashing a twisted smile.

"Borus should have greater confidence in his captain's abilities," she said. ((_Will they ever trust me like we trusted Captain Galahad?_)) she wondered ruefully.

To her surprise, Percival stifled a small laugh. "I'm not so sure that would be safe," he said.

"What does that mean?" Chris demanded.

"Milady, just a joke. Don't mind it," Percival said. He drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry for what I said back there; I figured you'd rather not be seen at all, looking like that. It's no wonder they couldn't recognize their Silver Maiden… I can barely tell that your hair is white. What happened?"

Chris shook her head. "I will tell the whole story once we are all gathered… and do not apologize, I am grateful."

A look of relief passed over Percival's face. "Very well," he said.

"Assemble the knights. We are going back to Brass Castle. I do not intend to miss the truce negotiations."

Without a word, Percival saluted. He casually mounted his black mare, and within moments, he had stirred the horse into motion.

Chris sighed as she leaned against Arrow Feather's muscular flank. Looking up, she patted the mare's neck affectionately. ((_I should have some oats,_)) she thought. Rummaging through her pockets, she felt something odd—a small sphere in her side pocket that felt warm to the touch. When she pulled it out, she was surprised. ((_A Hunter Rune! But… I never…_)) Her brows creased as she tried to make sense of it. Then it dawned on her.

"Hugo…" she mumbled. She remembered his words. ((_He said he was 'giving me' something…_)) The conclusion was simple, and unpleasant. At that moment, Chris became aware of the growing pain in her head. Her headache was back.

**-Hugo-**

When he had put enough distance between Chris and himself, Hugo altered his course and made a wide turn back towards his true destination. He felt embarrassed for being so thoughtless as to go the wrong way, but it would have been far more embarrassing if she had realized that he made the mistake after stalking off. It had taken him the remainder of the day, but as the sunset spread its crimson glare over the walls of Vinay, Hugo arrived at the capital.

((_Maybe I should've tried to keep explaining,_)) he thought for the seventh time. ((_No; she didn't even try to cut me some slack. I don't have to explain myself to her. I didn't do anything wrong!_))

Just as Hugo approached the walls, he heard shouts and saw that the guardsmen at the gates were moving through the opening. He saw the great iron gates begin to swing inwards, and ran towards them. "Wait! I'm going in!" he called out.

"Then hurry up, lad!" a guardsman replied.

Taking the man's advice, Hugo sprinted. He heard the laughter of the assembled guardsmen as he threw himself through the gap between the closing gates, clearing the breach with seconds to spare. He stiffened, and paused to draw breath. Still, the laughter of the guards seemed jocular in nature, and there was nothing to indicate that they had recognized him as a Grasslander. The hunter's cloak still concealed his Karyan clothes, and the features of his face were obscured by the evening's fading light. Leaving the closed gates behind, Hugo stepped into the city.

The sight was stunning. Before him, countless houses spread across the horizon, built in layers and rows in what seemed a random manner. To Hugo's eyes, it appeared as though the ironheads had made a great maze out of their homes, and he felt a sudden sense of discomfort creep over him. Though the surrounding walls were low compared to the massive walls of Brass Castle, Hugo felt as though he had become trapped within a pitfall of wood and stone. The ironheads, fearing that which they could not believe, had even distanced themselves from the spirits by hiding the earth beneath a layer of small, square stones. Instinctively, Hugo turned towards where he had come from, only to stare at a pair of forty foot tall gates that had swung shut behind him.

Turning back to regard the sprawl of houses, Hugo attempted to calm his wild heart. ((_It's not so bad. People live here, right? It can't be that bad, even if they're ironheads. I've just… got to keep calm. It's not rational to be afraid,_)) he assured himself. The city was built on a slope, and the streets wound their way across a slight decline from the gates towards… the sea.

In a moment, Hugo's mind shed all fears—rational and irrational—as the sight of the ocean drew him in. Seeing the sunset sparkle on the dark surface of the sea for the first time, Hugo was enticed. He kept his eyes on his distant target as he ran, navigating the streets of Vinay without thinking. Despite his elation, Hugo managed to keep enough of his head to avoid bowling into the denizens of the city on his careless path. Dodging and weaving through small crowds that had assembled in the sunset hour, he found his way to the docks, and the ocean ran up to meet him as he leaned out over the pier.

Hugo sat down on the edge and stared. The water washed against the stone beneath his feet in rhythmic waves as he watched the sun come to rest beneath the eternal blue. The sight set his heart at peace, and brought back his earliest memory.

During a gale, his mother had brought him to a small rise in the Grasslands; a rock that the clans called the Sightless Eye due to the strange patterns upon the stone. She had cradled him in her warm arms as he watched the wind send ripples through the tall grasses. It was a pleasant memory that had stuck in his mind, but Hugo had never told his mother that he remembered. It seemed too embarrassing to mention. ((_The ocean and the Grasslands are alike. The feeling of freedom… the size… it's the same. And just like the Grasslands, the ironheads will always be visitors, strangers, on the ocean._))

As time passed and darkness followed light, Hugo began to realize that he was wasting his time. ((_I need to find Lulu and the sergeant,_)) he thought. As he left the docks, Hugo quickly realized that wandering aimlessly about the city would be a pointless endeavor. Instead, he took to searching for people to ask about his friends. To his dismay, most of the citizens had retreated into their houses at this time of the day, but there were still some people out and about on the streets. Initially, Hugo had little success. Though it seemed likely that Lulu, like himself, could pass unnoticed in the streets, the idea of Sergeant Joe traveling incognito through Vinay seemed laughable at best. Just as Hugo had become frustrated enough to ponder giving up, a woman who had overheard his conversation with a fishmonger spoke up.

"I saw them," she said. Shifting the weight of the basket in her hands, she approached Hugo.

The fishmonger continued to pack up his wares as Hugo turned to look at the woman. "Really? Where?" he wondered excitedly.

"Those strange fellows were looking for a place to stay, I reckon, and I saw them last around the Flared Peacock. 'less my memory doesn't serve, they went in."

"Where's the 'Flared Peacock?'" Hugo wanted to know.

"Jus' follow the street over yonder, take a right, and hang a left in the next intersection."

"Thanks!" Hugo exclaimed. He hesitated for a moment, then asked "What's an intersection?"

The woman laughed. "It's where the streets meet, lad. You're not from around here, are ye?"

"That's right," Hugo said, smirking. He took his leave of the woman and started down the street. Finding his way proved easier than he had expected—there seemed to be a strange logic to these streets and houses after all—and he soon arrived beneath a tall structure marked with a shingle that creaked as the wind moved it. The symbols painted on the wood were like glyphs to Hugo, but the image of a most peculiar indigo bird with a colorful fan of feathers seemed like something that might be a 'Flared Peacock.' Hugo shrugged, and walked towards the door. Two burly men were flanking the entrance.

"Hold it, lad, where are ye going?" one of the men wondered.

"Inside," Hugo explained.

"That ain't possible, lad. No one's going in at this hour, 'less they're customers."

"Well, I could be a customer," Hugo suggested. The men were taller than him, and their glum faces bore down on his smaller shape as they towered over him.

"Not at this hour, lad. Come back in the mornin'."

Hugo frowned. ((_Come back in the morning! I don't want to sleep on these awful spirit-fearing stones._)) "But my friends are customers; Sergeant Joe and Lulu. I'm supposed to meet up with them."

"I said, come back in the mornin'!" the bouncer repeated, taking a menacing step towards Hugo. When the Grasslander did not budge, the man seemed confused for a moment. His partner grunted and stepped forward as well, putting his fists to his hips.

"What if you went inside and told them I'm here?" Hugo tried.

"'less you're cruising for a bruising, get out of here, lad," the other man said with a rumbling voice.

Hugo's eyes shone up. "Oh! Could I do that? Can I get inside if I do that?" he wondered.

To Hugo's surprise, the bouncers' faces flushed with color. The man who had spoken first growled as he swung his beefy arm. Hugo leapt out of his reach just as the fist passed through the air where his stomach had been.

"Hey!" Hugo said, clasping the hilt of his dagger behind his back. "What're you doing!"

"Get lost, kid!" the bouncer yelled. His voice rang out through the night.

Hugo's blood was pumping, and the violent response had him poised to draw his weapon, but he managed to calm himself. ((_I can't fight here; the ironheads will probably throw me out of the city._)) "Fine," he said, "I'm leaving."

He heard the bouncers laugh behind his back as he turned and walked off. Fuming, he went down the street and turned into an alley. From the shadows, he surveyed the inn. ((_There's no way I'm giving up. There's got to be another way to get inside…_)) The building seemed to have several levels, and the left side of the structure was suspended above the ground on sturdy wooden legs that flanked a side street. Hugo had seen enough houses to recognize a window at this point, and the upper levels of the building were replete with them. Hugo sighed. ((_I told myself I wouldn't do this kind of thing again, didn't I?_)) Surveying the building, he shrugged. ((_It's not much of a fall, this time,_)) he concluded.

Hugo wrapped the cloak closer around his body and leaned around the corner to look at the bouncers. The burly men were stamping their feet and twisting in their positions to keep their blood circulating as they conversed in low voices. Occasionally, their words were broken by spurts of chuckles. They did not seem overly attentive, though it occurred to Hugo that their relaxed demeanor could be a sentry's ruse. Keeping this in mind, he measured each deliberate step as he slunk between the shadows at the edges of the houses.

Reaching the building, Hugo cast a quick glance to assure himself that the bouncers remained unaware of his prolonged presence before he found a handhold on a the wooden beam and pressed his foot against a protruding stone in the wall of the adjacent building. He pushed himself up, neglecting to use the Wind Rune on his hand. ((_It'd be faster and easier, but I don't want to risk letting those bozos see a glint of light when I activate it. This cloak is pretty great when you don't want to be seen,_)) he rationalized.

Hugo's body groaned under the accumulated stress as he applied his strength and agility to the task of climbing up the building. ((_I'm gonna need to get a real night's sleep, tonight…_)) He used each crevice in the adjacent structure to leverage himself further up and grasped ever higher on the wooden beam. It seemed that he was going to reach the windows without being seen. When he hoisted himself onto the wall of the inn itself, he crept along the ledge on trembling legs and listened through the windows.

Such was Hugo's relief when he heard Sergeant Joe's mumbling voice through the third window that he nearly cried out his friend's name. Shutting his mouth at the last instant, Hugo sidled along the ledge and brought himself close to the window. When Lulu chimed in, Hugo heaved a sigh of relief. His fingers ached, and his legs were sore, but he was almost to his destination.

"What! Stop!" a voice called out from the ground. Hugo groaned as he looked down to see the bouncers run into his vision beneath him. "Get down from there!" one of them yelled.

Hugo did not comply. He leapt to the side and nearly lost his balance before grabbing onto the windowsill and hoisting himself up. With his final strength, he pulled himself through and onto the floor of the dark, silent room. Too silent.

In the next instant, Hugo heard the sound of clinging steel and felt a pressure against his throat. Searching the darkness, he saw the outlines of Lulu and the sergeant's grim faces as they bore down upon him with their weapons.

"I see you've learned ironhead hospitality," Hugo croaked.

"Hugo!" the sergeant hissed. Lulu echoed the name in a louder voice.

"I'm _so _glad to see you!" Hugo exclaimed as they withdrew their weapons. He stood up and pulled his friends into a tight hug. Lulu laughed as he squirmed in Hugo's careless grip, and Sergeant Joe's soft feathers tickled his skin.

"You sure had us worried!" Lulu laughed as they parted. "What happened!"

"Yes, and why did you climb in through the window? We thought you were an ironhead come to butcher us in our sleep!" the sergeant admonished him. Despite the disapproval in his voice, Hugo could tell that he was relieved.

Hugo could not wipe the broad grin off of his face as Lulu got up on his toes to light the bronze lamp that hung from the ceiling. "Once we got—"

"Your wounds, Hugo?" the sergeant worried. "Are they healed?"

"Yes, Chris did that," Hugo said. "She—"

Heavy pounds sounded on the door.

"I think they're looking for me," Hugo said sheepishly.

"Why?" Lulu wondered.

The sergeant put his halberd away and tapped his stomach with his feathered arms. "What did you do, Hugo?" he whispered.

Hugo replied in a hushed voice. "Nothing! They wouldn't let me in—said it was too late—so I climbed in!" He held his palms out to the sergeant, pleading his innocence.

"You'd better hide, Hugo!" Lulu whispered.

"You're right," Hugo agreed. He turned to get a better look at the room in the dim lamplight and studied the furniture placed therein. The beds that the ironheads slept in were suspended so high above the ground that Hugo noticed that there was ample space beneath them—space enough to hide in. Without further ado, Hugo got down on his hands and knees and skid underneath the bed, withdrawing to the deepest, darkest portion of the hiding place. He waves his hand to untangle a spider web and sat silent while he listened.

The door opened, and he heard Sergeant Joe say, "Yes?"

"Sorry to bother you so late," an obsequious voice said, "But my employees say that they saw someone climb in through your window."

"Someone… climbed in… through our window?" Sergeant Joe kept his voice level as he spoke, betraying none of his knowledge. If Hugo had not known better, he would have believed that the warrior was truly ignorant of the circumstances.

"Yes, well… absurd as it sounds… eh… well, clearly no one has climbed into _this_ room… Once again, I'm sorry to bother you, but I had to make sure you hadn't come to any harm."

"Yes, of course," the sergeant said. "That's considerate of you. We'll let you know if we see anyone suspicious."

"Right… good night," the man said, and the door closed behind him as his footsteps led out into the corridor.

Hugo waited until Lulu's face popped up underneath the bed's edge, suspended upside down. "You can come out, now," he said with a grin.

Hugo crept out from his hiding place and coughed as he wiped dust from his clothes. "That was convincing, sergeant," he praised.

The sergeant quacked with contentment. "Now, lad, it's time for you to tell a convincing story."

Hugo laughed as he sat down upon the soft covers of the bed he had hidden underneath. "Alright. It's going to sound pretty strange, though."

Lulu "I think we're starting to get used to 'strange' by now…"

Hugo relaxed more and more with each word as he told his friends the tale of how Chris and he had evaded the hunters on their perilous flight through the forest. He omitted the details of their unpleasant parting and proceeded to tell them of his journey to Vinay and the events that followed in the city.

((_She's so frustrating! I can't believe her!_)) Hugo thought. His mind kept wandering as he remembered the details of the past night, and though his body had begun to adjust towards sleep, his heart would not come to rest. When Hugo finally found rest that night, his sleep was plagued by dreams and nightmares. The scenes shifted without rhyme and reason, but two things remained constant.

Silver hair… and violet eyes…

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I decided to break this part into two chapters. It's really beyond my control: It just kept growing, and suddenly I realized that it would be too much for a single chapter at this pace. I think that the unplanned break became quite a fitting half-time.

Why is Chris so concerned with her appearance before villagers? The answer is forthcoming in the next chapter.

I'm sure some of you were disappointed to see Chris and Hugo part in this chapter—I know I would have been! I guess you'll just have to trust me when I say that I need to do this in order to set some things up…

I hope you liked this chapter; the next one will be up in one week. Thanks to those who reviewed my previous chapters; it helps inspire me to write sooner rather than later when I see that people care. As always, I appreciate comments and criticism, especially if there were specific things you liked or disliked. This is very helpful to me.


	7. Creeping Shadows

Thanks for the reviews!

It's time to clarify my formatting: Full italics signify that the paragraph is part of a flashback. In other cases, I use italics either for thoughts (full sentences) or for emphasis. I hope it's made sense so far.

Apparently, paragraphs ending with "))" now have that suffix automatically removed. Who is this supposed to help?

* * *

**-Chris-**

Chris stopped tapping her finger against her forehead when she heard the tent flap move and turned her head to see an unfamiliar woman enter the room.

"Milady, my name is Jena," she said. The accompanying curtsey was far from perfect, but her shoulder-length brown hair was beautifully arranged in two flat braids.

"Where is Sophia?" Chris wondered, twisting in the leather folding chair.

"She has returned home to deliver her sister's child, milady. She asked me to attend to you in the meanwhile," the woman explained.

"I see." Inwardly, Chris sighed. ((_She looks like she might platter incessantly. I already miss Sophia,_)) she thought. She felt a pang of irritation. ((_Why did she not see me before she left?_)) Sophia had been there when she arrived at the knights' camp on the Amur Plains the previous night, and had assisted her with the much needed cleaning of her clothes and armor—not to mention her own hygiene. That she was suddenly gone made Chris' spirits sink further, fixed as she was on Louis' recovery and the guilt she felt for how she had treated Hugo. ((_Not that he does not deserve a good lesson. That boy is far too thoughtless and reckless._)) Being without both squire and attendant was uncomfortable; she did not like the feeling of Jena's hands in her hair as the maid braided her newly washed silver locks.

"Perhaps you don't remember me, milady; I served as Sir Galahad's chamber maid before his tragic death," Jena said.

"Truly?" Chris mumbled.

"That's right! Milady, you see, I had the good fortune of…" Jena droned on. Chris did her best to shut out the words spoken in order to save herself the pain of each syllable slamming against her mind. Her headache had returned, and it had intensified, if possible. As captain, Chris' duties were myriad in face of the truce negotiations, and the simple matter of how to arrange the delegation had already wrought complications. Despite herself, Chris found Jena's wordless drone calming, and as she sank into a welcome half-sleep, her mind wandered into the past…

_Chris stalked across the courtyard with her fists rigid against her thighs. She tried to still her rage, but her emotions had spiraled well beyond her control, and the boisterous laughter of the squires assembled around the colonnade she had left behind fueled her anger._

_She had gotten about halfway through the connecting corridor when she heard a stern voice. "You allow them to rile you much too easily."_

_Chris turned with a start. Before her stood none other than Sir Galahad, the Captain of the Knights. Even in the privacy of the knights' quarters around the high noon of a sunny day, he had opted to don the full raiment of a knight. It occurred to Chris that somehow—through sheer stubbornness, perhaps—he seemed unaffected by the midday heat._

"_Milord!" she exclaimed, saluting hurriedly. "You surprised me."_

_He walked towards her slowly. "Why do you let their words affect you?" he wondered._

"_Milord, why shouldn't I? They don't respect me!"_

"_Why should they respect you?" he retorted._

_Chris stared at him. ((_What does he mean? Is he saying I don't deserve respect?_)) "Sir Galahad… Do you believe I'm cut out to be a knight?" she asked dejectedly._

"_That is not my question to answer," he said. "Do _you _believe that you would make a fine knight?"_

_Frowning, Chris let her gaze run across the marble floor tiles. ((_Would I?_)) she wondered. "It's my desire to be a knight, like my father. I'll do what it takes, even if they never come to respect me," she said. She raised her eyes as she spoke and met Sir Galahad's gaze stubbornly._

"_Then hear me out," the captain said, tapping his gauntleted fingers against the back of his wrist. "Anyone can master the sword and call herself a warrior. Three things, however, separate a knight from a common thug. Name those three things."_

_Chris was taken aback by the question, and the anger faded rapidly as she pondered her answer. ((_What kind of answer does he want to hear? Should I know this? Sir Feren hasn't said anything of this…_)) She opted for honesty. "I don't know, milord."_

"_Make a guess," he commanded._

"_Dedication… strength… and honor," she said slowly. She looked at him intently, trying to gauge his immediate reaction to her words._

_Sir Galahad smiled slightly. "Strength is a result of dedication. Honor is a part of something more important. But yes, dedication is correct. The true answer is dedication—in order to become a skillful knight; devotion—to the people under your care; and dignity—to make others admire you."_

"_I did not come here to be admired, milord," Chris said defiantly._

"_Then you came to the wrong place," Sir Galahad said. "A knight's duty is to her people, and that duty includes an obligation to ensure that the knighthood survives. The knight, through conduct and _appearance_, inspires children to aspire to become knights themselves. None of us will live forever."_

_Chris anxiously shifted her weight from her right to her left leg as she considered the captain's words. "What does that mean for me?" she wondered._

_Sir Galahad shook his head. "You should understand, and you will, once you think about it. The mere image of a knight should instill pride into the hearts of all Zexens. You have the face of a lady, yet you speak like a boy and act like a tomboy."_

"_But milord," Chris protested, "I want to be a knight, not a fragile doll!"_

_Sir Galahad snorted. "You do not know what you speak of. You were born with the curse of beauty, and these boys will never respect you unless you act in a manner they expect of you."_

"_The curse of… what?" Chris said in confusion. She frowned. "I won't act for anyone!" ((_This is stupid! Even if he's the captain, this is just stupid!_)) she thought._

"_Playing a role does not have to be constricting, if you can choose your own part," Sir Galahad said._

_Chris looked at the floor. "I don't know if… if it's something I can do." ((_I'm not cut out for this. But… I can't give up on it. There's nothing I'd rather do,_)) she resolved._

"_Oh? If you change your mind, perhaps you would like to take up the duties of a squire."_

"_W-what? Milord… I do, but…" she sputtered. She searched Sir Galahad's face, but he seemed naught but sincere, and his features betrayed no emotion. ((_I can't give up this chance._)) She drew a deep breath. "I've… I have changed my mind. I will give it my all."_

"_Excellent," Sir Galahad said. "Leo is more than prepared to take his vows; I shall need a new squire, then."_

"_What! Milord, what're you saying?" Chris gaped in surprise._

_Sir Galahad laughed. "I will not settle for a half-hearted squire. Are you sure?"_

_Chris immediately sank to a knee and lowered her head. "I swear it. Milord, I will not let you down."_

"_We shall make a knight out of you yet," her captain promised._

Jena's voice snapped Chris back into the present. "There, Lady Chris! All done. You have such beautiful hair… I would positively _kill _for such silvery locks…" She sighed foppishly. "You should wear your hair down more often, though I don't know if you'd like to be held responsible for what it'd do to the men…" Jena laughed.

Chris stood up and stretched her shoulders. "Thank you for your assistance, Jena," she said simply. ((_Save me from her prattle, please._)) Without another word, she ducked underneath the tent flap and stepped out of her pavilion and into the camp.

**-Hugo-**

The wind sang through the streets of Vinay as Hugo and his friends approached the Guild Hall. It ruffled Hugo's hair, and the voice of the wind spirits made him feel a great measure of relief for the fact that the ironheads had found no method of keeping them out of their city, as they had with the poor earth spirits beneath. ((_They'll be punished in time, without a doubt,_)) he comforted himself.

As the three of them drew closer, Hugo could see that there was some sort of commotion at the front door. The stone steps that led up to the building were occupied not just by a pair of guards, but also by three people that Hugo had to assume were foreigners. Though the two men—one of whom had the strangest dark skin tone—were wearing identical garments that suggested some manner of occupation or clanship, the young woman was dressed in the most flamboyant manner. She had to use one hand to hold onto her hat in the breeze, but she used her other hand to punctuate her words as she spoke to the guards. She seemed furious, and Hugo could tell that the guardsmen were at the edge of their patience.

"I wonder what that's about," Lulu said.

Sergeant Joe shook his head. "That's really none of our concern, Lu. We'd better not get involved."

"Well, it looks like she's got about as much love for the ironheads as we do," Hugo chuckled.

"She strikes me as a person who doesn't have much love for anyone," Sergeant Joe pointed out.

Just as her associates managed to physically restrain and drag the young lady from her perch on the top of the stairs, Hugo stepped up in her place and addressed the guardsmen.

"I'm Hugo, son of Chief Lucia of the Karayans," he informed them. "I've brought a message from Chief Lucia to the Zexen Council."

The guardsmen shared a look before one of them—a man with a strangely trimmed mustache—spoke up. "You'll have to wait. The council's too busy to see you."

"What!" Hugo burst out.

"Hugo," Sergeant Joe warned.

"The council is preoccupied. You'll have to wait, like everyone else," the guard explained.

"Rubbish!" Hugo exclaimed. "This message is from Chief Lucia! Didn't you hear me?"

"We heard you well enough," the other guard said. "The council doesn't have time. Maybe _you _didn't hear what we said."

Hugo's fingers twitched as he struggled to remain calm. ((_Alright, there's no reason to get angry. Just tell them how it is,_)) he thought.

"Isn't the council taking the truce seriously?" he demanded to know. "Chief Lucia speaks for all Karayans. Don't you want to damn war to end?"

The guards frowned, and the man on the left seemed to grow furious at Hugo's words. He twisted his grip on the spear in his hand, but remained silent. It was the mustached man who spoke up. "That's council business; it's none of our concern. We're just following orders, so you'll have to come back later."

Hugo drew a deep breath and placed his fists on his hips to keep them occupied. "Alright, how long?"

"If you leave your name and where you're staying, the council will contact you when they can fit you in," the guard explained.

"How long is that gonna take?" Hugo asked impatiently.

"A week or two, perhaps. The council is very busy."

"A _week!_" Hugo asked. He very nearly shouted the words. "That's outrageous!" ((_Say that to the spirits. This is absurd!_)) Without another word, Hugo turned on his heel and walked down the stairs. He was idly aware of Sergeant Joe's voice as his friend stepped up to the guards to speak with them. ((_The message has got to be delivered, but a _week_? Or more… no, that's just impossible. Mother will be furious to hear this, and I don't know if I can wait that long before returning home,_)) he mused.

"What're we gonna do, Hugo?" Lulu wondered as he walked up to stand next to him.

"I don't know, Lu. A week's way too long," he answered. Hugo's eyes roamed to the side, and he found himself watching the extravagantly dressed young lady shout at her visibly apologetic comrades. Her long brown hair flittered in the winds, and she had to keep brushing strands out of her face as she spoke.

"—two days! How dare they make me wait for two days!" she screamed.

((_Two days?_)) Hugo thought. Turning to Lulu, he smiled slightly. "I've got an idea."

The look that Lulu gave him was hardly encouraging, but Hugo ignored it.

"Hello," he said as he approached the woman. "I'm Hugo, the—"

She turned in one swift motion to regard him, and the fury written on her face was replaced with a self-confident smirk even as her companion cringed. "It must be a pleasure for you to meet me," she said. "I am Lilly Pendragon—yes, _that_ Pendragon." The smug look on her face seemed to suggest that Hugo should know the name.

He never found the opportunity to properly introduce himself.

**-Chris-**

The intricate silliness of pride, respect and leadership was giving Chris a headache—well, she already had a headache, but it was magnified. As Salome had pointed out, the Grasslanders, while present in full force, would consider it an insult to send all of their leaders to meet with the knights. The barbarians well knew who the true leaders of Zexen were, and would not submit to the indignity of appearing weak before their enemies. Therefore, Salome had used great tact in arranging for a single leader from their camp to meet with a single of theirs—the only one that the barbarians would respect, as he put it. Chris sighed, and stepped into the pavilion at the heart of the plains.

The tent seemed cavernous for a mere two people; the woman sitting on the goose down cushions near the center somehow managed to appear large in spite of this. She was a tall woman, dressed in a skin-tight black fabric that left only her feet, hands and muscular shoulders bared. Around her bosom and waist, a colorful dress ending in a half-skirt was tightened against her body by a patterned bronze girdle decorated with rainbow tassels. She wore sandals, and bronze bands covered the black cloth over her ankles and wrists, while a separate collar sheltered her neck. A band of cloth held her silky blonde hair away from her face. Altogether, the outfit seemed outlandish to Chris.

Chris had studied Chief Lucia closely as she walked towards the ring of pillows at the center of the pavilion. While she attempted to find a comfortable way to sit, she smiled slightly at the Grasslander. ((_How can she appear so stately while sitting in such a casual manner?_)) Chris grumbled. ((_I must seem stiff,_)) she thought.

"Thank you for agreeing to this meeting," Chris said, bowing her head ever so slightly. It was a formality; a slight measure of respect that Salome had suggested.

"Thank you, as well," Lucia complied. The smile on the woman's face suggested that she knew something that others did not. It was the kind of smile that irritated Chris.

"Let us rejoice for the fact that we are able to meet here today," Chris said, cautiously omitting the mention of the Goddess. She would have preferred to be able to speak freely, but each word spoken was part of a political dance, and until the music stopped, each step had to be in tune.

"Yes," Lucia said. "Let our peoples attempt to live in harmony rather than slaughter each other."

Chris bowed her head in agreement. "Then—"

"You really are as beautiful as they said," Lucia cut her off. "I didn't know that the Zexens _allowed_ their women onto the battlefield," she added. Her upturned lips were indication of derision at the thought.

Realizing that the answer would demand tact, Chris hesitated before replying. When she spoke, she puffed herself up casually. "Most women choose not to fight." ((_Rather far from the full truth, but I am not going to fuel her misconceptions of our culture,_)) she thought. Irritated with the subject, Chris decided to turn it around. "You are beautiful as well. Besides, are there not more important things for women to aspire to?"

Lucia chuckled. "Agreed," she said. With a nod and a flourish of her hand, she went on. "You're strong, I will admit. It is good to handle this between women, rather than to trust 'manly rationality' to prevail over 'manly impulse.'"

"Yes," Chris agreed, moderating the smile that creased her lips. ((_It _is _better to discuss this with a woman. Men react in unpredictable ways… Just like that insufferable boy._)) "Speaking of which…" she said. "I met a Grasslander, a Karayan, I believe, under the strangest of circumstances while I traveled here. His name is Hugo."

The chieftain's eyebrows rose, but if she was truly surprised, she hid it well. "Oh?"

"Yes..." ((_Should I tell her everything? She will likely hear it from the boy when he returns. Still, before we know what has occurred, it will sound like an accusation, and drive a deeper wedge between our people. I am not sure whether this is the correct decision, but I will withhold the full story until the truce is written and signed._)) "There were some misunderstandings, but he and his comrades were safely on their way, last I saw them." ((_As far as I know, that is. Well, Salome did say that the duck warrior and the other boy traveled towards Vinay. Hugo would have followed,_)) she thought.

"Misunderstandings?" Lucia repeated curiously. Her lips tightened, and a slight frown crept into her features. "I don't like this turn of topics. Should I consider this a threat?" she asked.

Chris gaped in surprise. "What? No! Of course not… I… it was conversational, no more. I thought that perhaps you had an interest in knowing that the trio was on its way."

"Why would I doubt that?" Lucia wanted to know. Her eyes narrowed as she sat straight on her pillows. "You're hiding something, Silver Maiden."

Choosing her words carefully, Chris drew a deep breath. "Of course, you do not need to doubt… But if you would, could you leave a personal message with Hugo, from me?"

"What message?" Lucia wondered.

"Tell him that I apologize, for the way in which I treated him. I was mistaken."

Lucia nearly flew up from her pillows. "What? Have you harmed him!"

"N-no! It was an argument, nothing more!" she tried to assure.

The chieftain's eyes were flaring as she spoke. "If he… if the boys are harmed, there will be no truce."

Chris was taken aback by the steel edge to Lucia's words. "I assure you that no harm will come to the children through the designs of Zexen." ((_This is absurd; it should be implied._)) "On my honor as a knight, I swear it. Please, we would do nothing to sully our honor or endanger the truce." The words that she spoke were galling, but she at least avoided using a pleading tone. Inside, she was furious. ((_Captain Galahad has not yet been avenged; were it up to me alone, I would demand justice… but for the sake of our people—Zexens and Grasslanders both—the war must end,_)) she thought.

Lucia leaned back onto her buttocks and unfolded her legs. "I'll trust you word, Silver Maiden."

"Please do not call me that, Chief Lucia," Chris asked.

Lucia smiled—for a moment, Chris thought that she saw a hint of embarrassment flush her cheeks—and nodded. "As you wish, Lady Chris. Forgive my outburst. So much for my words on male impulses… but this, at least, you will come to understand, one day."

Chris raised an eyebrow, but did not press the subject. ((_Better not to touch her pride. I wonder what she means, though. Perhaps another time._)) "Thank you. If you insist on calling me 'Silver Maiden' or other nonsensical things, I shall have to refer to you with some similar names I have heard you called."

The chieftain grinned. "True? Please, what are these names?" she wondered, holding out her palms to Chris.

Chris cleared her throat before she worked up the courage to speak. "Well… the most imposing would be 'Burning Lioness.' Let me think… the tritest one would be 'The Striking Chieftain,' and the most embarrassing one… most likely 'Golden Bosom.'"

Lucia's smile had gone from a tomboyish grin to roaring laughter as Chris spoke.

"Believe me, Chief Lucia, when I say that I have no power over these people," Chris said with a slight smile. "Were it so, I would have them deported—not to the Grasslands, naturally—or at least forbidden to speak," she joked.

"That's hilarious. Perhaps we are not so different, after all… There are other names for you as well—ones I doubt they've said to your face. Interested?" Lucia asked with a mischievous smile.

"In the interest of peace, yes," Chris said with a smile.

Despite Chris' best efforts, her cheeks were burning well before Lucia had finished.

**-Hugo-**

Although he had been quite proud of his plan in the initial stages of its execution, Hugo was beginning to rue the moment he had approached Lilly. The imperious young woman's passionate behavior was punctuated by a deep strain of self-importance, and each word she spoke seemed chosen either to boast her own achievements or coax words of adoration out of her listeners. Hugo could see how she had obtained such manners; her sycophantic assistants, Samus and Reed, bowed to her every whim, heaping praise upon her at every opportunity given. She was terribly spoiled, and Hugo could barely stand it.

In order to take advantage of the fact that Lilly had an appointment a mere two days into the future, Hugo had convinced the naïve woman that he would make an excellent guide to the sights of Vinay, and with Sergeant Joe's help, he had actually managed to keep up a decent charade as they explored the city together. Though she expressed interest in the prospect of seeing what the city had to offer, Lilly seemed thoroughly unimpressed by everything they had seen so far. In truth, Hugo had been more impressed himself.

After two days of listening to the Lilly's whims, carrying the items she purchased, and taking her verbal abuse, Hugo had finally managed to convince her that his presence would be useful during her meeting with the council. Ostensibly, the reason was that his familiarity with the people of Zexen would prevent her from making any mistakes—an explanation that seemed to sound agreeable to her companions. They had little faith in her diplomatic abilities, and after two days, Hugo was more than prepared to agree.

Just as they approached the Guild Hall, Lilly turned to Hugo. "Now, Hugo, I know that you're a simple boy without training in the fine art of subtlety, but try to behave when we meet the council."

Gritting his teeth, Hugo forced a calm nod. "Sure," he said.

"I'm sure you know a lot about the Zexen ways, but I know what I'm doing, so don't you interrupt me!" She wagged a finger at him to impress the seriousness of her words. The rapier sheathed at her leather-clad hip stood at a straight angle as she strutted with a hand on the hilt. Passersby gave her a wide berth.

"I'm sure," Hugo said.

"Hugo, it's impolite to speak to a lady in that manner! You must call me Miss Pendragon," Lilly said for perhaps the twentieth time.

"Got it," Hugo assured her.

"Oh, and remember to stay a few steps behind me. Servants must try to minimize their presence."

Hugo pressed his lips together in irritation as he nodded. ((_Not yet… I'm so close, now. Spirits; it'll have been all in vain if I blow it now._)) "Let's go?" he suggested. Lilly raised no objections.

Hugo kept to the back of the group as they passed through the doors to the Guild Hall, but the guards—a different pair, today—spared him no notice. Lulu and Sergeant Joe had remained at the inn for the duration; there was no sense risking recognition to bring them with him. Without preamble, Lilly marched through the building and ascended the stairs as soon as she was informed of the council's whereabouts. The man who had supplied the information struggled to keep even strides with her. "L-lady Lilly, please!"

"I am going in!" Lilly announced as she pushed the door open. Hugo quickly followed through the open door before anyone tried to stop him.

The council's room was an opulent chamber within which an octagonal table stood. It occurred to Hugo that the piece of furniture must have been constructed at the spot, since it could impossibly fit through the door in any fashion. The table was flanked by as many chairs as it had sides, and seven of these were occupied by men dressed in snobbish Zexen clothes. Assistants scurried around the room as their masters conversed, poring over a mountain of papers. All eyes fell on Lilly as she swaggered into the room. Hugo gripped the rolled-up message underneath his cloak.

"Greetings, good sirs!" Lilly proclaimed. "I am Lilly Pendragon, daughter of President Gustav Pendragon of the Tinto Republic." Samus and Reed filtered into the room and exchanged worried glances as they took their positions at her sides.

"Oh, right," the man at the head of the table said. "We've been expecting you, Miss Pendragon. I am Councilor Rean. Please, have a seat."

"Yes, of course," Lilly agreed, stepping forward to sit down on the carved chair.

"I understand that you have come on behalf of the Tinto Republic to speak about the bandit problem?" Rean queried.

Lilly nodded. "Yes, we have become concerned that you are not doing enough to—"

"Before that," Hugo interrupted, gathering shocked stares from all involved.

"Hugo, how dare you!" Lilly exclaimed. "I must punish you thoroughly for this!"

Hugo continued as though nothing had occurred. "No, you don't," he said firmly. He had suffered her capricious will over the course of two days, but he no longer had to take her abuse. ((_Blast, but it feels great to shut her up!_)) he mused.

"I'm Hugo, son of Chief Lucia of the Karayans. I've come to deliver a message from Chief Lucia that concerns the truce."

Of the councilors, the man who had introduced himself as Rean seemed the least shocked, but the most annoyed. On the other hand, Lilly's mouth hung open as she gaped at Hugo in bewilderment. Samus and Reed looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

"Yes…" Rean said at last. "We didn't… expect you quite yet. We have been waiting for Chief Lucia's message." He clasped his hands, feigning a smile.

"So, here you go," Hugo said, leaning over the table to toss the message in Councilor Rean's lap. "Knock yourselves out. I'll give your regards to my mother."

Without a further word, Hugo turned and walked out of the room.

"Hugo…!" he heard Lilly call out.

He kept walking.

**-Sarah-**

Tapping the power of the Wind Rune in her pocket in order to fan the tunnel's pungent stench from her face, Sarah sighed. "Are you prepared, Yuber?" she asked.

He grinned, tapping his slender blades against each other. "Always," he said.

"Very well," Sarah said. She took a step forward and stared down the tunnel, trying to imagine the twisted path that the passage took on its way to the Great Hollow. ((_I am still not convinced that the lizards are the ideal targets for our ruse… but I am not the tactician, I suppose,_)) she thought. She turned to look at Yuber. "I will summon the illusions, then…" she said.

"No," he said. His blades swept through the air as he pointed them towards the ground. "Your puppets are useless," he explained with a sneer. "I'll summon something better."

"Do you not think that might be unwise?" Sarah wondered. ((_I pray that this fool does not drag us down with him…_)) she thought.

Yuber's voice was impassionate as he replied. "This cursed rune begs me to use it…" Rather than elaborating, the dark-clad man activated his True Rune with a flourish. Snaking veins of darkness emanated from his arm as the sigil of the Eightfold Rune appeared before Yuber.

Sarah gave a start as Yuber began to recite. His words were incomprehensible, hailing from some unknown tongue, but each syllable he intoned seemed to tear a gash in the fabric of the world, and caused Sarah to physically stagger. A howling noise rose from thin air as the ground began to boil with shadows in a circle around Yuber. His recitation continued, and thin, vertical lines of black color appeared in the air around him. Each one widened through staggered expansions as he spoke, causing lines to shift to portals. Within each portal, shapes began to materialize in black shadows and lavender light. Sarah stared at the scene that played out before her, and suddenly her mind went blank.

When her sight began to return, she was sitting on the ground. She felt a great confusion, and her vision was blurred as she tried to gain her bearings. She heard a voice, but could trace neither words nor meaning. Feeling the cold stone with her hands, Sarah blinked and tried to focus. She looked up, and saw Yuber's smiling face.

"Humans have such fragile minds," he said. "Not at all accustomed to the World of Emptiness. This world—and everything within it—is fragile… Remember that, little girl."

Sarah pressed her eyelids shut and stood up. She opened her eyes and composed herself to the best of her ability. "Do not exaggerate yourself, beast," she said icily. Glancing around, Sarah saw that a dozen amorphous shadow figures had been summoned through the power of the Eightfold Rune. Their bodies were writhing with black flames, and their skin was fused with pieces of dark armor. She passed her eyes over them, but made sure to avoid lingering on any single one. ((_By the True Runes, he caught me off guard. I must not allow this to happen again…_)) she resolved.

"I will weave an illusion for you and your pets, then…" she said,

"Must we?" Yuber taunted. The question seemed rhetoric.

Sarah tapped her staff against the rough stone floor. The power of the Chimera Rune mounted in the Water Crystal that capped the staff spread in a sphere of pale light around her. As it passed over the summoned shadows, their shapes altered and took on more solid forms, each one dressed and armed with proper equipment. Yuber seemed to shiver as the rune's influence veiled his true appearance. When the spell had dissipated, Sarah surveyed its lingering effects. The shadows seemed almost eerie in their armor, their faces hidden behind steel helmets. Though she was less than impressed with the details of the illusion, it did not seem likely that anyone would glean the true identity of the soldiers.

Yuber snorted. "I haven't fought with just one sword in a few years," he remarked. "Rather short, aren't I?" His voice, though proper for the illusion, seemed incongruous with his true nature.

Sarah looked at him. In his new shape, he was about her height. "You will get used to it," she said, "Lady Chris."

The shadow knights followed in his footsteps as Yuber took off through the tunnel. Within seconds, she could no longer see his silver hair.

**-Bazba-**

The Great Hollow was at peace during the restive hour as Bazba swept his tail against the warm stone floor. With the lion's share of the clan's warriors at the truce negotiations, the cavernous chamber was silent. Therefore, it came as an even greater surprise when the silence was broken.

"Kill them all!" the crude voice of a human female called out as the sound of footsteps thundered through the Great Hollow.

Bazba turned, raising his three-bladed glaive in shock. "Who goes there?" he rumbled, running down the slope that connected the terrace with the floor. "To arms!" he called out, waving his clawed hand to rouse his fellow warriors. "Defend the hollow!"

His blood pumped in anger as he saw the intruders who filtered in through the side tunnel. At the mouth of the tunnel, two of his warriors lay slain. "Ironheads! The truce was a lie!" he roared.

"I won't be satisfied until _your_ kind is wiped from the earth," the female said with a laugh as she raised her blood-stained sword. "Time to die, lizard!"

Bazba felt his scales contract at the insult, and he charged with a great bellow, raising his weapon overhead.

The silver-haired knight sidestepped his attack with surprising ease and raised her blade. She made as if to strike, but the attack was a feint. She laughed, jumping to the side.

Bazba growled as he hefted his weapon from where it had smashed into the stone. "You! You're the Silver Maiden… of the ironhead knights! How _dare _you? Cowards!"

"Oh yes!" she hissed. "And tonight, my fame burgeons! Once I've wiped you out, I'll be a true hero!"

"Not when I skewer you!" Bazba screamed. The sound of clashing weapons sounded all through the cavern as his warriors engaged the intruders. He rushed, twisting his weapon in a wide circle as he came around with an overhead swing.

The knight dodged to the side and smacked her weapon into the handle of his glaive. "Not bad, frog," she said. "Time to die, though."

Bazba threw himself sideways as the knight struck out. The attack was quick—faster than he had thought possible—and the sword cut through the scales at his side. He roared in pain, and fell to the ground.

"Oh well. Not bad, dodging that. Not good enough, though," she taunted. "I guess it's fine if you're alive," she said with a shrug. He struggled to breathe as she stepped out of his field of vision.

Bazba was still conscious when the Silver Maiden returned with the decapitated head of his chieftain.

**-?-**

The sudden tug at his consciousness caused him to jolt right out of his seat. He stood up and drew his greatsword over his shoulder in a single motion.

((_Finally,_)) he thought. ((_It was only a matter of time before he became careless…_)).

He held the blade parallel to the ground in his right hand, pointing it at the darkness. As the wind sang, the glyphs upon the blade shone with a crimson light in the sanctity of the night air. The familiar sensation faded within moments, but the excitement that accompanied it had set his mind ablaze. During that short lapse, he had gleaned the location of his prey.

His armor made no sound as he began to walk.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Since the knights call Chris "milady," it stands to reason that Chris would have called Sir Galahad "milord." Also, it's a bit unusual how the Zexens refer to people by their first names (Lady Chris, Sir Salome…) rather than by their surnames. Quite unusual, especially for Japanese people! It does seem to be put into system, though, so I'm running with it. It would seem to suggest a lack of inherited titles. Still, "Lady Lightfellow" doesn't sound too bad…

I hope that this chapter did not seem too abrupt: I don't want to dwell too much on these intermediary events.

Sorry for the extended description of Lucia's clothes: I don't usually think that it's useful to go into such detail, but sometimes I like to practice writing descriptions.

Once again, pardon the change of pace. Did I manage to make it entertaining? Let me know! From the next chapter on, things will pick up pace… My favorite strategist once said that "nothing's as good for business as a war," and I think that applies quite well, here. If you liked or disliked anything, I'd appreciate reviews!


	8. Iron Fist of Anger

Happy New Year! January is the Monday of the year, but it has not been that bad for me so far. Pardon the extended lack of an update. Now that things are settling into a pedestrian pace, I will attempt to update more frequently.

Just to answer a question: Yes, Hugo is a bit taller than Chris in my story, perhaps a few inches. He is in his growth spurt, now… : ) As I said earlier, I have altered the timeline a bit so that Hugo is 17 and Chris is 23.

I might also make mention of the fact that according to canon, Louis is Hugo's age. However, I am docking his age increase and leaving him at 14. In this universe, an unfortunate anniversary-related accident prevented Mr. Keeferson from marrying Mrs. Keeferson for three years. They're fine now, but don't mention chocolate around them.

* * *

**-Hugo-**

The passage through the gates of Vinay had filled Hugo with exultation, and each step further from the city built upon the growing sensation of freedom. The ironheads' capital and its tall stone walls had imposed a feeling of oppression that he had been unable to fully measure while it bore down on him. Now that the weight had been lifted from his chest, its absence seemed all the more apparent. The pale azure of the sky, the ripple of tall grasses, and the swaying branches of trees all drew his attention as they walked, as though these things had been forbidden him for a longer time.

With the return of Fubar, Hugo's heart was at peace. The clever griffin had kept its distance as they begun to make the trek through the Zexen Forest, swooping down to reveal itself only when the group had put enough space between themselves and the city. Although the others had been surprised to see the griffin, Hugo had anticipated its arrival. As cautious as it had been, it had willingly left telltale signs for Hugo to interpret, and since shortly before they entered the forest, he had known that the creature was not far. As a show of fondness, Hugo sat grudgingly astride the griffin's powerful back as it walked through the woods. He would have preferred to walk, but as always, it was difficult to keep a straight path when Fubar insisted on nudging him affectionately and constantly.

The sudden craning of Fubar's neck alerted Hugo, but their pursuers made little attempt to hide their presence. Before long, a shouting voice was within earshot, heralding the sounds of several horses galloping towards them from behind.

"Halt! I command you!" a familiar voice called out as the horses came into view.

Hugo sighed and slumped against Fubar's neck with his arms piled on its sturdy head as he watched Lilly rein up her horse before him. Her henchmen followed, seemingly as worn as their horses after the furious chase. They cast glances at each other and watched the other party nervously as they edged their horses closer to Lilly's flanks.

"No, you don't," Hugo said lazily, hiding his irritation. "If you think I'm going to keep—"

"Why did you not tell me you were someone important!" Lilly cut in. The indignant expression on her face suggested that this had been a significant transgression on his part.

Hugo glared at her. "Broken rune," he cursed, "what's that supposed to mean?"

Lilly seemed frustrated. "Why, being the son of a chieftain, you are important. It is common courtesy to mention such a thing," she explained slowly, as though instructing him with great patience.

"What in the spirits' name does it matter?" Hugo spat. "We _barbarians_ treat each other like friends, and it doesn't matter if you're _important_ or not. Are you saying you wouldn't have treated me like dirt if you'd known that—"

"Dirt!" Lilly shouted. "How dare you! I'll have you know, I treated you in the manner a commoner should expect to—"

"Stop interrupting me," Hugo said with a sneer. "Commoner? Keep up your _common courtesy_ long enough around here and you'll get a spear through your stomach soon enough."

"Is that a threat! How _dare you_!"

"Miss Lilly!" her henchmen called out in unison, restraining the young woman in her seat.

"Hugo," Sergeant Joe said, eyeing the others nervously, "Don't drag this out. We don't want to get into trouble on the way home."

With a nod, Hugo bit his tongue. A particularly unladylike curse from Lilly sparked Lulu's ire, however.

"Shut up!" the younger man said, taking a step towards Lilly with a hand on his sheathed knife. "If you keep insulting my friend, I'll make you sorry!"

"I don't recall speaking to you!" Lilly said, following the words with an indignant snort.

"Doesn't matter," Lulu shouted. "Hugo's a lot more important than you are, and you've been acting like a dog that doesn't know its place, barking and—"

"_What_!" Lilly exclaimed. Her face turned crimson as her fury manifested.

"Forget it, Lulu," Hugo said, "She doesn't get it. Let's just leave."

Sergeant Joe nodded with a sigh of relief as Lulu turned to walk away, shrugging. Hugo could tell that his friend was as furious as Lilly, but he hid it better.

"You will _not_ turn your back on me! Do you hear me!" Lilly shouted, but her henchmen did their best to allow Hugo and his friends to leave without further words.

They had gotten about twenty yards when the tone of Lilly's voice changed, and she said something that surprised Hugo.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry!"

Hugo's eyebrows raised on their own as he turned his head. "What's that?"

Lilly fumed. "Don't make me repeat myself. You heard me; I said it loud enough."

Smirking, Hugo shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. "What is it you want, anyway?"

Lilly was silent for a few seconds before she spoke. "I want to speak with Chief Lucia."

"Why?" Hugo demanded.

Lilly's lips tightened, and she visibly struggled to remain calm as she tried to ignore the question. Eventually, the questioning look in Hugo's eyes forced her to reply. "It's really none of your business, but I want to speak with her about the recent raids on Tinto caravans."

"Why'd you go to Zexen instead of coming to talk to us, then?" Hugo wondered.

"I thought they might help set up a meeting. Truthfully, I didn't think the barb—… the uh, the clans, would be amenable to discussion with outsiders."

Hugo could not help but laugh, and Lulu did the same, even as Sergeant Joe gave them admonishing looks. "You though we'd be more likely to speak with you if the ironheads set it up?" Hugo asked. "You really don't know much about the Grasslands, do you?"

"I know enough," she snapped. "I know it's an area of roughly two and a half thousand square miles. I know that it has a decentralized population, with a mere single city of medium proportions. I know it's—"

"So? Sounds like you know a lot of useless things," Hugo said, hiding a smile. ((_Riling her is child's play,_)) he thought as he saw her mouth twitch.

"How d—"

"Miss Lilly! Please!" her fair-skinned aide exclaimed.

"Whatever. We can't control the spirits, and I can't decide who my mother talks to. If you want to see her, you're free to follow us. Just mind your manners; she doesn't have my patience," Hugo said with a shrug.

Lulu burst into laughter, and Hugo shot him a glance of confusion mixed with irritation.

Lilly strutted in her saddle, digging her fists into her hips. "It is agreed, then. You will serve as my guide until such time as we reach Karaya. You will receive payment upon fulfillment of the contract. Which reminds me…" she said, reaching down towards the saddle bags to dig into the pockets, "Despite your crude manners, I still owe you your just payment for your guidance in the fair city. Let me just…"

Hugo glared at her. ((_She only hears what she wants to hear!_)) he decided. "There's no agreement. I didn't say anything about—"

The approaching sound of hoof beats upon dry dirt reached Hugo's ears, and he reacted instinctively as Fubar shrieked "KWEEEE!" Suddenly, the forest was alive with the murmur of cracking branches and swaying leaves around them, and Hugo had just enough time to keep Fubar from bolting into the air and leaving the others behind before armored soldiers stepped out of the underbrush and onto the trail.

"What's this!" he demanded, pulling his knife from its sheath in concert with Lulu.

"I shall tell you what this is," a man's stern voice called out. The approaching horses came into view, with the man who had spoken astride a black gelding flanked by four additional horsemen. All five wore the ceremonious armor of the Zexen Knights.

"Hugo of the Karaya Clan," the man announced, "You are hereby placed under arrest, for the crime of conspiracy to commit murder in the nation of Zexen."

"What!" Hugo managed. He struggled to keep Fubar from reacting to the all-too-close presence of the soldiers that surrounded them, poking their spears at the air tentatively.

"That's absurd!" Lilly exclaimed. "Hugo has had no opportunity to do any such thing; I will swear it on my honor!"

Gritting his teeth, Hugo flicked his knife around. "Is this another ironhead treachery?" he spat. "Why wait until now?"

The knight snorted, holding the hilt of his sheathed sword. His fellow knights moved to separate Lilly and her henchmen from the surrounded Grasslanders as he spoke. "You have violated the laws of Zexen, and therefore you are to stand trial in Vinay."

The circle of steel that enclosed them made Hugo feel trapped and nervous, and he could tell that his friends were similarly distraught. ((_Rune-breaking ironheads… damn them. They're too many. We can't escape here, unless…))_ he thought, swallowing and leveling a glare at the knight. His face was gaunt, almost emaciated, and his mouth was a tense line.

"Who are you to make this claim?" Sergeant Joe wondered, taking a seemingly casual step towards the knight.

The knight's face turned to the sergeant, but his neck remained arrogantly aloft. "I am Sir Alron of the Knights of Zexen. I serve the council, and the council has demanded that your ward is returned to Vinay… in chains, if need be."

Sergeant Joe turned to meet Hugo's eyes. "Perhaps it would be most prudent to—"

Restrained by her aides, and encircled by a group of soldiers, Lilly fumed. "Remove these thugs at _once_!" she demanded. "Have you notion of who I _am_!"

Alron turned his head to give her a cool gaze. "I know who you are, Lady Lilly. This does not concern you. We have business with the barbarians alone."

"That's not exactly right," Hugo said.

"Do elaborate," the knight said.

"You have business with me alone," Hugo corrected. In an instant, he nudged Fubar's flanks and reached out his hand towards Lulu, pulling him up behind him as the griffin cried out and lunged, slapping a spear aside to advance towards the side of the road.

Within moments, the scene was in chaos, with shouts from all involved filling the air as Fubar leapt. Hugo slammed his knife against the head of an intrusive spear, knocking it aside as another spearhead stabbed past his head. He leaned against Fubar's neck and reached out his hand as Sergeant Joe ran towards them. The sound of steel on steel rang out behind his back as his hand closed around the sergeant's arm, and as the duck leapt, he pulled with all his might, leveraging him between Lulu and himself.

Fubar screeched, and reared up to dodge a spear and deliver a massive claw swipe at the wielder's shoulder, sending the soldier to the ground, shrieking with pain. Desperately, Hugo ducked and parried weapons while trying to clear a space for Fubar to take flight.

"Wait!" Lilly cried out.

Hugo instinctively frowned. ((_The ironheads won't hurt her; I'll leave her behind,_)) he reasoned. Another few moments, and the soldiers would close the gap without hesitation. Sir Alron was shouting at the top of his lungs, and the knights tried to position their horses in the throng.

"You're _not _leaving me behind," Lilly shouted. Fubar flapped its wings, hovering half a foot above the ground as it searched for space. Breaking free of her aide's grip, Lilly motioned her horse forward and caused it to rear and slam its hooves into the back of a soldier. As the spearman crumpled onto the ground, her horse leapt, and she liberated herself from the stirrup and jumped. Hugo cursed loudly as she latched onto Lulu's back and dug her knees into Fubar's flanks. The griffin screeched in irritation, and Hugo turned his face towards her in fury.

Beneath her, three of the soldiers pulled out bows from behind their backs. Hugo froze with fear. ((_If even one of them hits, we're done for!_)) he reasoned. In a heartbeat, he caused Fubar to swivel in mid-air, turning halfway towards the archers, and without a second's consideration, he turned to Lulu. "Fubar trusts you," he said. "We'll meet later; I'll outrun them," he lied.

Hugo raised his knife and leapt. He bowled into the first of the archers, cutting down to sever the bowstring and open a gash in the soldier's wrist. The archer cried out in pain as Hugo rolled to the side, slamming his free hand into the neck of the flanking bowman. Fubar screeched behind him, and he could hear the others call his name as he knocked the bow out of the second archer's hands and leapt over his legs to stab his knife into the arm of the third.

The soldiers were upon him in an instant, and he had to throw himself into the ditch in order to avoid a spearhead. The second steel point drove into the moss near his head as he rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet, running clumsily through the underbrush and into the forest. Thoughts of the stormy night with Chris ran through his head as his heart jumped, and he dodged between trees in the desperate hope of losing his pursuers. ((_Spirits, protect my friends!_)) he prayed in silence.

The forest was a din of noise behind him as the zexens pursued. He saw a slope appear before him, and he ran towards it, leaping from the crest.

A lancing pain shot through his leg as something slammed into his thigh. He screamed, and the pain was aggravated as he hit the ground and bowled down the forested slope. The arrow lodged in his leg snapped near the head as he tried to halt his descent, and his head slammed into the trunk of a tree as he passed by, causing his vision to swim.

Struggling to rise, Hugo blinked and tried to separate the pain from his consciousness. ((_I've got to stand, I've got to run,_)) he thought in desperation.

A spearhead touched his neck. Somewhere in the distance, Fubar screeched.

Hugo froze, biting back the fear that nearly caused him to weep as he stared up at the spiteful face of a Zexen soldier.

"Sir Alron!" he called out as several other soldiers ran to surround him, leveling their spears. Their armor clinked as they moved. "Sir Alron, we've got the murderer!"

"I-I'm not a murderer," Hugo said defiantly, but he had to struggle to speak, and the words sounded pitiful to him.

"Damn barbarian scum," another soldier said, "We should kill him right here."

One of the soldiers shook his head. "The council commanded that he—"

"Well done," Alron's voice uttered, and a moment later, the soldiers parted as the knight strode up to Hugo.

"Never trust an ironhead," Hugo said, turning his head to spit at the ground.

Alron laughed, but it was a sound of spite rather than mirth. "Criminals like you are the worst," he sneered. "Did you think you could get away with anything in _Zexen_?"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" Hugo spat, "And you know it!"

With a wave of his hand, Alron ordered the soldiers surrounding Hugo to step aside. The sound of clinking metal filled the air as they obeyed. The knight drew his sword in a sinuous motion and pointed the blade towards Hugo.

"Get up, barbarian," he said.

Confused, Hugo rose to his feet, still clutching his knife. Glancing to his sides, he gauged his chances of escape. Spotting orange cloth all around him, he concluded that they were nil. He turned his eyes to Alron and scowled.

"Speechless?" the knight asked. "I thought as much. Let's play a little game of truth, barbarian. Let's have a duel, you and I, right here… and we'll find out who is superior; the Knights of Zexen or the Grassland barbarians. If you win, I'll let you leave."

A murmur of elation rose through the assembled soldiers, but no one laughed aloud.

Hugo gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pulsating pain in his thigh. "Will you let me heal myself?" he wondered.

"No," Alron said with a smirk. "There's no such thing as a fair fight. Circumstances are dictated by the superior party; in this case, me. The fact that you're alone, wounded… and have the lower ground… is mere indication of your inferiority."

Glowering, Hugo twirled the hilt of his knife with his fingers. "I always knew ironheads were cowards," he said. "I guess the knights are no exceptions."

Irritated mutters came from the assembled soldiers, but Alron seemed unfazed. "Big words from a boy who left his friends to plummet to their deaths," he said with a sneer.

Hugo's heart skipped a beat. "What!" ((_No, that can't be true… can it?_))

"You think I'd let that damn bird fly away?" Alron said, laughing spitefully.

"Die!" Hugo shouted, lunging with his unharmed leg and weaving past Alron's sword—

The knight stepped to the side, quickly parrying the knife with a simple wave of his sword. Hugo stumbled on his wounded leg, dodging a thrust and parrying an overhand cleave before struggling to his feet. Alron stepped to the side, thrusting quickly, and Hugo threw himself to the side—

—right into Alron's knee, which slammed into his back. Hugo grunted, swinging his knife in a wide arc to match and parry the knight's sword. A clang of steel rang out, and Alron retracted his blade, grabbing the weapon with both hands and slashing diagonally as Hugo rolled away. The blade whooshed past his ear.

Hugo rose and brought his dagger up in the stride, but the attack was slammed aside by the larger man's sword. The knight moved his sword, but Hugo recognized the feint and ignored it, spinning around to stab his knife against Alron's throat. His knife sliced through air, and a foot slammed down upon the arrow wound.

Hugo howled with pain as his knee buckled and he dropped to the ground. He swung his knife desperately, but the knight dodged the wild attack with ease and stepped in to slam his knee into Hugo's chin.

Hugo found himself staring up at the leering knight, and realized that he was sprawled onto his back.

"Looks like you lose, barbarian," Alron said with a mirthless grin.

Hugo struggled to speak as the knight gripped the cloth of his shirt tightly and pulled his back from the ground.

"I can't believe you little worms have pestered us for all these years. Soon enough, that'll be history."

"Y-you…" Hugo breathed.

"What's on your mind, murderer?" Alron wondered.

"Y-you b-beat me, b-but… you w-wouldn't stand a chance… against a real warrior," Hugo stuttered. ((_Coward, Jimba, Dupa, Bazba, or my mother would trounce you,_)) he thought.

For the first time, Hugo could see anger in Alron's face. The knight raised his gauntleted hand and delivered a heavy slap to Hugo's cheek. Reeling from the blow, his vision swam as the knight's backhand slap caught him, and he coughed blood. Hugo gasped in pain as the knight delivered a third strike and dropped him onto the ground. He whimpered from the ache as he felt a kick in his side.

Coughing and gasping, Hugo curled up into a ball and struggled to remain conscious as his body was wracked with pain. His head felt like a pinprick of needles, and his thoughts were spinning. A pervasive humming sound rang through his mind as he coughed and breathed raggedly.

"Haul him up. We're taking him with us to the Amur Plains," Alron said. His voice seemed distant to Hugo.

"Sir, the council commanded that he was to be brought back to Vinay at once. Shouldn't we—"

"Silence!" Alron retorted. "It is the _knights_' duty to interpret and carry out the will of the council, and _yours_ to obey the knights'."

((_Spirits… let them be safe_,)) Hugo thought. His mind screamed as it clawed for consciousness, but as each claw lost its grip, he succumbed to oblivion. Thoughts of his friends brought forth nightmarish visions that swam to the surface of his tortured dreams.

**-Bazba-**

A wealth of emotion had overcome Bazba as he lay bleeding from the wounds inflicted by the Knight Captain, but of all the feelings that vied for attention as his mind seethed, only fury remained. Fury, and the growing sense of shame that stemmed from having failed his chieftain.

Bazba had watched, helplessly, as the she-devil walked casually out of the Great Hollow, bearing the severed head of Chief Zepon. ((_For that, blood must flow,_)) he promised silently. With the females evacuated to the hidden lairs, the remaining warriors had gathered around him in the central cavern. They had turned to him for leadership, though he felt disgusted with accepting it. Responsible for the defense of the Great Hollow in the absence of Captain Dupa, he had been entrusted with safeguarding the life of their chieftain, and he had failed.

Ashamed as he was, he could neither rest nor relinquish command before he had avenged Chief Zepon, and the fury within his mind could not abate until that task was completed.

"Send a message to the warm-bloods," he said to the runners. "Tell them we're retaliating."

Closing his eyes, Bazba breathed slowly, fanning the flames of his fury. ((_We must move quickly, now. We can't let the ironheads spring their trap,_)) he told himself.

**-Sarah-**

"Your lack of caution astounds me, Albert," Sarah said, stepping into the tent. Zexen camp followers were milling about the cloth pavilion, and the bustling sounds were dulled only slightly as she let the flap drop behind her.

"Your understanding of strategy is limited at best, while your opinions are expansive at least, Sarah," Albert said. He sat on a folding chair, sipping tea from a ceramic cup held gingerly with two fingers. Steam rose from the liquid, and the spices filled the tent with a distinct, rich scent.

"Indeed? You are practically advertising your presence," Sarah said, sniffing. She folded her arms over her chest, pressing her staff against her body as she studied him. He was wearing an elaborate white coat with patterns in black and shades of gray, but the garment was buttoned only at the middle, leaving the tall collar ruffled and creased. His dark garnet hair was arranged in a casually unkempt fashion. As a whole, he looked rugged, and though Sarah could not prove it, and cared too little to press the matter, she was convinced that he made an effort to keep a disheveled appearance.

Albert sighed, handing his cup to Yuber, who towered motionlessly over him. "Do you expect me to cite something trite? How about 'keep your friends close, and your enemies still closer?' Perhaps 'the closer to the flame, the greater the shadow' suffices? Others come to mind, no doubt gleaned from some abject manual written by some ancestor or the other."

"Is there a point to your meanderings?" Sarah wondered, letting her staff drop to balance her hand against the gem. She rested the other hand on her hip. ((_The fool! Hiding in the middle of the Zexen camp!_)) The thought was staggering to her.

Albert shrugged, making no motion to rise. "Some would argue that speech intrinsically has a point, by virtue of—"

Sarah raised her free hand to motion for him to stop. "Spare me," she groaned.

Albert smiled. He started to lean backwards in his seat, but quickly caught himself when he realized that the chair had no back. His smile vanished. "Sometimes the most brazen, unexpected course of action is the one which is the most effective, by virtue of its unpredictability. All things aside, no one is looking for us. Where would you have us hide away, dear? I am open to suggestions, but please remember that it is difficult to find good tea in a cave."

((_No doubt his antics are designed to perturb me. Everything is a game to him,_)) she thought. "As long as he trusts your judgment, I will not question it," she said.

"Perfect. I cannot have you arguing with me over insignificant details while my mind is better served on further ruminations."

Restraining herself, Sarah drew a deep breath and took a step towards Albert, forcing him to raise his eyes in order to look up at her.

Casually, almost ceremoniously, Albert rose from his seat and walked over to smooth a vellum map that had been spread out over the nearby table. "Besides," he said, "the Zexens will eventually be under our command." He hesitated for a moment on the word 'our.' "Watching them now leaves me better equipped to anticipate them later," he said, as if it justified everything.

Sarah spared a glance at Yuber. His eyes were shielded under the brim of his hat, but the tightness of his lips and the recalcitrance of his demeanor suggested that he was irked. ((_You do not like to serve, do you?_)) she mused. He still held the cup in his hand, and his stone face revealed no recognition. She could not even be certain that he knew she was present.

Sarah turned to regard Albert. "What about your plot?" she wondered. "The lizards are sure to be furious now, but Chris' presence at the camp can be vouched for at the time of the attack—by the Karayan chieftain, no less."

A smile creased Albert's lips as he turned from the map, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat. "No matter. Once the misunderstanding is cleared up, the truce will already be broken beyond repair. You give these 'pagans' far too much credit. Ultimately, they are savages; too hot-headed to think before acting."

"Pagans they are, but the truth will surface before long."

"Before long," Albert said, "the bishop's plan will come to fruition. Nothing matters then, does it?" The tone of his voice seemed to suggest that this was the truth.

"Even so…"

Albert bided his time for a few seconds, waiting for her to elaborate. When she did not, he spoke. "Those who have no more arguments should abandon the argument. Besides, you told me you wanted short term solutions, true?"

"You are right," Sarah said with a sigh. ((_Why does this irk me so much? I have faith in him… I know he is right. Why does this… gall me so much?_)) she wondered.

Without another word, Albert strode past her and flicked the tent flap aside to step outside. "Come, let us watch," he said.

Sarah followed, glancing at Yuber for long enough to see him move.

Outside, the camp was as she remembered it. Soldiers and camp followers of a dozen vocations mingled on the narrow paths between the square collections of tents, and the occasional knight could be sighted, with or without a steed. Carried on creaking wheels, wagons brought water, grain and a thousand and one little things necessary to run a small army, and the sound of smiths plying their trade filled the air.

The boisterous voice of a knight rang out from an adjacent path, causing Albert to halt, and Sarah in turn to stop by his side to see what caught his attention. As they watched, a procession of five mounted knights and a few dozen travel-worn soldiers passed. In their midst, a riderless horse carried a large leather sack strapped to its back. ((_What might the purpose of this convoy be? Some important resource?_)) she wondered.

Glancing at Albert, she saw that he was watching the knight in the middle with great interest. Unlike his peers, the mounted man was not wearing his helmet, and was fiddling with a curved knife. The smile on his face seemed predatory, and triumphant.

When the knights had passed, Albert turned to smile at Sarah. "It seems that your marionettes will prove entertaining, if nothing else…" he remarked. Shaking his head, he studied the milling craftsmen and laundry women. "The flames of hate will be fanned high enough to burn the sky. Soon the matter of who did what will be irrelevant. These people are far too simple to pierce a complex plot… Really, this is a waste of my talent." He said the last sentence with a reluctant sigh, exaggerating the observation.

Sarah shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

Albert waved her question aside and turned to Yuber. "The lizards are coming, are they not? You can sense them?"

Yuber nodded simply.

Albert drew a deep breath and turned his eyes to the sky as he exhaled. "The tension is tangible…"

"Is it time?" Sarah wondered.

Albert hesitated long enough for Yuber to note his assent with a small nod. "Yes," he said to Sarah.

Sarah could not help but watch Yuber as she produced the glowing crimson rune from her pocket. He was smiling, now. Swallowing, Sarah held the rune aloft within its Water Crystal shell, and drew upon its power.

The very air trembled with fury as the Rage Rune pulsated with eldritch energies, spreading its intangible tendrils in all directions to envelop the path, the camp, and ultimately, the Amur Plains.

Sarah's mouth twitched, but she forced the wrath to abide, knowing that it was artificial. She turned to look at Albert, and was surprised to see him glaring at her. ((_Is that artificial?_)) she wondered.

The first sounds of battle reached her ears.

"It has begun," she breathed.

**-Chris-**

Chris was in the middle of a sentence when the flap on the opposite side of the tent was torn aside, revealing a rugged Karayan.

"Chief, there's fighting!" he exclaimed, even as Lucia sprung to her feet with a glare.

"Deal with it!" she snapped.

"It's not just a fight! The whole camp is…" He paused, shaking his head. "Trust me," he said.

Lucia cast a suspicious glance at Chris before running off without a word.

"What is the meaning of—" Chris started, standing up with a groan.

She heard the flap part behind her and rose to find a soldier saluting her. "Madam," the blonde man said, "the Grasslanders are attacking!"

"What!" Chris exclaimed. Her hand went instinctively to her hip before she remembered that she did not wear her sword. Frowning, she ran past the soldier, leaving the tent.

Outside, muffled cries turned to screams, and the camp was ablaze. Turning her head, she struggled vainly to apprise herself of the situation. As the Karayan had said, the fighting had spilled out across the camp. ((_Why!_)) she wondered.

"It's the Lizard Clan," the soldier said. He ran up to her side and held out her sheathed sword.

Chris' blood was pumping with fury as she surveyed the scene. Steeling herself to reveal no emotion, she took the sheath with a nod and quickly fastened it to her belt. "What sparked this?" she asked.

The soldier shook his head. "I do not know, madam. Lizard Clan reinforcements struck without warning. I suppose they must have traveled through some of the—"

"What about the knights?" she cut in. ((_Goddess, the camps are too close… the troops are too scattered. This could turn into a bloodbath,_)) she thought. ((_Cursed barbarians!_)) Her eyes turned to the tall orange pavilion that rose from a crowd of smaller white tents in the distance. Screams of rage rang out all around her.

"Divided," he said. "There's no organization, yet."

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Lieutenant Nash Clovis," he replied.

Chris turned to look into his eyes. "Lieutenant Nash; find Sir Salome and inform him that we're regrouping around the arsenal. You're dismissed," she commanded.

Nash gave a flawless salute and ran off.

Drawing her sword, Chris dashed towards the arsenal. She had wound her way through a throng of tents and was crossing a collapsed pavilion with overturned furniture bulging from the slack cloth when a pair of arrows slammed into the ground at her feet.

Furious, Chris threw ducked and sought shelter behind a sprawled, round table that formed a lump in the cloth-covered ground. She had just enough time to see the bowmen among a group of Karayan warriors emerging from behind a tent. She peeked out, trying to see—

A loud thwack sounded as an arrow slammed into the table, burying the arrowhead halfway through the wood. Chris retracted her head out of instinct and cursed. Making a swift decision, she grabbed the cloth and began to cut open a long slit, even as she heard the Karayans calling to each other while circling her hideout.

Just as Chris freed the table from the torn cloth, a brawny warrior leapt rounded it and lunged for her. She rose halfway and brought her sword up through a diagonal arc to slam his long knife away. Before he had time to respond, she came down with a follow-up slash that bit into his neck. She kicked the dying man away and turned to meet a knife thrust with her sword. Parrying the attack, she took advantage of the assailant's surprise by kicking away his forward leg. As he fell, she impaled him on her sword. The Karayan's eyes were wide with shock as he stuttered blood and died.

Chris winced to the sound of arrows impacting against the wood as she grabbed its edge and rolled it before her, causing it to bowl into the side of a tent. Wasting no time, she used the opportunity to slice an impromptu window and leapt through into the dim interior. There were slain soldiers strewn about the beds within, and most of them were unarmored. She ignored them, but a blinding anger threatened to overcome her senses as she rushed through the tent flap.

Rounding a corner, Chris saw a Karayan with his back against her raise a knife, and instinctively stabbed him through the gut. Knocking him aside, she came upon a violent struggle between a group of Zexen soldiers and Lizard Clan warriors. She was vaguely aware of the soldiers' elated cries of recognition as she leapt into the fray. A massive glaive flashed through her vision, and she raised her sword and placed her hand against the back to block the massive blow. With her hands ringing from the impact, she used her off-hand to push the haft of the glaive down as she slashed, slitting the shocked lizard's throat. The battle turned quickly, and the remaining enemies were driven off before she had time to react. The soldiers looked to her, and she found herself shouting some order to them. When she ran, they followed her.

Passing her own tent, she found it ransacked, and the bodies of several soldiers were littered around it. Ignoring the mess, she kept running.

"Lady Chris!" a familiar voice called out. Startled back into awareness, Chris turned to see Percival ride up the path. "Thank the Goddess!" he exclaimed. Behind him, a small contingent of soldiers followed.

His face was bruised in several places, and his neck was drenched with horrifying blood. ((_It cannot be his,_)) she thought as logic returned. "He would be dead," she added in a mumble.

"Milady?" Percival said in a puzzled voice.

Chris shook her head and glanced around her. "What is going on?" she demanded. Her heart was pounding, but she tried to moderate the tone of her voice and calm herself.

"As far as I've been able to tell, the Lizard Clan initiated an attack, and the barbarians naturally sided with their allies. Things are a mess here," he said, glowering as he spoke, "and I don't even know where to begin with recounting losses." He shook his head furiously. "Borus and Alron counterattacked. They're hitting the Karayan village, and the battle's been shifting east on the plains."

"I gave no such orders!" Chris exclaimed.

Percival pursed his lips. The look of anger on his face suggested that he was wished to argue with her, but he said nothing.

"The barbarians will outflank and overwhelm them," she concluded. "We will have to cut open a path of retreat for them."

"Milady," Percival said, saluted. Turning his head, he motioned for the soldiers to move and shouted "Bring Lady Chris a horse!"

"Where is Arrow Feather?" Chris wondered.

"With Salome," Percival explained.

One of the soldiers produced a brown mare and handed the reins to Chris. Wasting no time, she leapt into the saddle and commanded the assembled soldiers towards Karaya.

The anger exacerbated her headache, and she felt as though her skull would split to the rhythm of her veins.

**-Alron-**

The sickening scent of burning flesh filled Alron's nostrils as he trotted his gelding, Rapier, through the remains of Karaya. Ignoring the stench, he reveled in the triumphant feeling of conquest. His blood danced in his veins, and his eyes were wide with excitement as Rapier stepped on the broken remains of barbarian dwellings. ((_Finally, the time to sweep the savages from the fields has come,_)) he thought. "Indeed!" he shouted on an impulse, "Never again shall you harm the people of Zexen!" Clutching furiously onto the hilt of his blood-covered sword, he drew a deep breath and shuddered with satisfaction.

The soldiers around him gave no sign of reaction. They were efficient in their work, running through the wrecked village in small teams of three. They searched for survivors, but at this point, there were only bodies to be found. Instead, they used their feet and weapons to break and tear everything in their path. ((_Truly, their zeal is inspiring tonight,_)) Alron thought.

He could no longer hear Borus' voice in the distance, but he was out there somewhere, hunting. Alron had never doubted the knight's skill and dedication, but his boundless ferocity had come as a surprise. ((_He is a true patriot,_)) Alron mused.

A cacophony of voices crying out in fury alerted him to the arrival of the barbarians. The plains seemed to resound with the force of their footfalls upon the emerald fields.

"To arms!" Alron shouted. "Rally to me!"

((_Goddess, grant me victory!_)) he prayed.

**-Chris-**

Flames lit the darkening sky in a hue of livid orange as Chris approached the battlefield. She heard the battle before she could see it, and when she crested the hill, she stared down on the scene before her.

She went cold inside, drawing a deep breath to sustain the rage. All that remained of Karaya was ashes and rubble, and the flames still rose from the skeleton of the barbarian settlement. ((_Goddess, is this the work of the knights?_)) she lamented.

On the opposite side of the ruins, the sounds of battle called her attention to a small regiment of Zexen soldiers led by a handful of knights struggling against an army of Karayans and Lizard Clan warriors. The barbarian ranks swelled with each passing moment as more of their kind emerged in groups from all directions. Chris had engaged in several smaller skirmishes on the way from the camp, and her own ranks had grown larger as smaller detachments of knights and soldiers joined her.

She turned her head to yell "Strike a wedge into the enemy's right flank; open a path for our brethren!" Spurring her borrowed horse into motion, she yelled "Charge!" and set off with Percival at her side.

Chris kept her eyes forward as she flowed down the hill, matching her pace to ensure that her horse would stand at the arrow's head of the wedge without outpacing the others. Though unfamiliar to her, the mare was expertly trained for battle, and it had responded fluidly to each command she had given. ((_She will not shy from battle_,)) she believed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chris saw sparse groups of barbarians swarming in from the sides as the line before her scrambled to face the charging knights. With eyes wide open, she unsheathed her sword and drew it over the mare's head and onto her right side. The warriors seemed to rush up to her as she charged. She gripped her reins fiercely and braced herself against the saddle. With one last breath, she raised her sword.

Expelling her breath in a furious shout, Chris swung her sword down. She did not shift her gaze, but she felt a resistance, and then something tore loose. Her arm was drawn back from the force, but the momentum of the charge carried her clear, and she whipped her sword up, splashing blood. She saw a leveled glaive before her and halted her horse. The mare reared up, and she swung her sword to knock aside the lizard's weapon. With a crack, her horse's hooves came down upon his face and sent him sprawling. She commanded the horse forward, trampling the warrior.

Through the shifting throng, she could see her allies; close enough to watch them retreat from the barbarians, and see them run out of space. ((_There is no time,_)) she feared.

Stopped in her charge, Chris fought to keep aloft. She nudged her horse aside, dodging a devastating glaive, and leaned down to slash across the warrior's scaled shoulder. Commanding the horse forward, she cut past an unbalanced knight and stabbed her sword through a Karayan fighter's side. The warrior's pained scream was barely audible in the battle's din.

Steel flashed out of the corner of her eye, and she turned. She swung her sword, and the stained blade clanged against a long knife. In the next instant, she turned in the saddle to slam aside a charging sword. The attacker was trampled by Pervical's charger. She met his eyes for a moment before turning her horse. ((_The path is opening, but is there time!_)) she wondered.

"Break out!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. Her horse reared to avoid a glaive, and she leaned down to deliver a vicious slash. She felt something stab into her armored hip, and something tugged at her waist. She staggered in her saddle, and she was pulled back. Her right foot left its stirrup, and she tumbled over, hanging down against the horse's flank. ((_No time to mount_,)) she thought. Desperation coursed through her mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a third assailant knocked aside by a horse. The Karayans raised their knives and lunged.

Deciding quickly, Chris swung her sword and cut the stirrup. She crashed into the ground to a symphony of metal, and the wind was knocked from her lungs. The Karayans' knives struck air, but they quickly adapted. Rolling underneath the horse, Chris prayed that it would not trample her as it neighed and reared up. Avoiding its hooves, she scrambled to her feet, bowling into a barbarian's back. Catching her balance before him, she switched grip on her hilt and slit his throat as he turned.

"Break out!" she repeated, watching the flow of the battle with a sinking heart. She heard Percival shout from somewhere around her, and she turned to look for him.

With a furious bellow, a Lizard Clan warrior charged her. She leapt to the side, but his glaive raked across her side, opening a painful wound. The glaive was swung around and descended for her head. Ducking, she slammed her sword into the haft. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard her blade crack. Before she could react, a Karayan rounded the lizard. She swung her blade instinctively—

—and her sword shattered two-thirds down the blade, sending shards of steel into the attacker's arm. He roared, but pressed the attack. Chris reached out to grab his arm, but felt the glaive careen off of her armor. The force of the partial blow took her breath away, and she staggered, grasping the Karayan's wrist.

She heard him scream, and the lizard added his voice to the choir in the next instant. As she cleared her eyes, gasping for breath, she saw a knight looming above her. It took a moment to recognize Borus: His armor was covered in blood, and his eyes were wild. ((_Goddess, what has he done…?_)) she wondered.

For a moment, they were both speechless. The sounds of screaming men and clashing steel resounded around them. "Borus, what…?" Chris asked.

"Milady, your horse," he breathed. He seemed to be glaring at her.

Chris turned to find that the mare was prancing nervously within a small pocket on the battlefield. In three swift steps, she ran to the horse and mounted her. She fumbled for a moment, and remembered the severed stirrup. She turned the mare towards Borus to see him parry a glaive and stab his sword through the throat of its wielder.

"We are withdrawing. _Now_," she commanded.

Borus turned both horse and head and looked at her with open fury. "Milady!" he growled.

Chris gaped in shock. She felt her own anger rise. "NOW!" she shouted. ((_Goddess, what madness is this!_)) she wondered.

Borus gritted his teeth before nodding. "Yes, milady."

"I think not, Silver Maiden," a woman's voice called out.

Turning her horse, Chris saw Lucia stride into the pocket, flanked by a Lizard Clan captain adorned with colorful feathers. ((_Those colors… that must be Dupa,_)) she reasoned. Borus growled, and Chris raised her hand to halt him. "We are withdrawing," Chris said.

"No," Dupa said. "She-devil, you die here. For the murder of our chieftain, your blood will feed the Grasslands." He spun his glaive, moving the massive weapon with surprising deftness.

Lucia's eyes were cold, and blood dripped from the coiled whip in her hands. "You have murdered my people, _knight_," she said, cracking her whip.

((_Chieftain…? Murdered…?_)) Chris thought in confusion. ((_This must be a misunderstanding. This is all a mistake! But Karaya… _this _is no mistake,_)) she thought grimly.

"No more blood needs to be spilled here today—" she began.

Dupa roared, swinging his glaive in a wide arc as he charged. Lucia followed. Backing up, Chris panicked, feeling her hip for the blade that had been broken. All around her, knight and solder alike seemed to shrink back against the barbarian reinforcements. ((_It is over. This is it,_)) she thought.

"Halt, or I'll slit this boy's throat!" someone hollered over the chaos. Chris saw Lucia's face turn, and the chieftain's eyes widened with terror as her mouth gaped open. Turning, Chris saw Alron motion his horse closer, flanked by a pair of knights. One of the knights held an unconscious boy in his arms, pressing sword against his throat. Chris was stunned to silence as she recognized the boy. ((_That is… Hugo!_)) she realized.

"Dupa, wait!" Lucia shouted.

The lizard reacted with surprise, but halted his charge and held his weapon before him. "What!" he called out. Turning, he saw Hugo and reacted with a roar of anger.

"Call a standstill, or your son is dead!" Alron shouted. The smile on his lips set Chris' insides aflame. She breathed heavily as she tried to keep herself from exploding.

((_This is ignoble; this is no way for knights to act!_)) she fumed. Looking around, the battle was dying down as though a ripple had been sent through the assembled warriors. Lucia hollered desperately, calling her fighters to back off where they vied for ground with her own soldiers. Solitary shrieks of pain and surprise rang out from the increasingly silent battlefield.

Swallowing, Chris gritted her teeth behind tight lips and met the chieftain's eyes. Worry seemed to battle outrage, and her body had gone stiff. ((_This has gone too far, but I cannot undo what has been done. Though it sullies the knights' honor, what has been started must play out,_)) she resolved. She glanced at Hugo with worry. He looked weak, and seemed unconscious, but alive. The outrage of the sight stabbed at her heart.

"Release him," Lucia said firmly. The tone of her voice was a desperate balance between pleading and commanding, and she seemed to tremble where she stood, as though remaining in place was achieved through sheer force of will.

"Not yet," Alron said. "There are others; the villagers are being held elsewhere. If you want them to live…"

"He lies," Dupa said simply. "There are no other survivors."

"A knight does not lie!" Chris exclaimed. "Not even to an enemy." ((_That much of knightly honor remains, at least,_)) she assured herself.

Lucia seemed torn, nervously rubbing her whip. "Can you guarantee his life, and theirs, Silver Maiden?" she demanded to know.

"Yes," Chris said simply. "He will be released once we are safely within Brass Castle, and so will the others."

Lucia hesitated for a moment before nodding. "So be it," she said. A few seconds passed, and worry seemed to drain from her eyes, leaving only hatred. "I didn't think you were such a formidable coward, Silver Maiden."

Chris winced, feeling her cheeks color.

"How dare you!" Borus growled. In an instant, his sword was raised.

"Borus, calm down!" Percival shouted, laying a hand on the bloody knight's shoulder to keep him from charging.

Suddenly, an arrow struck against Dupa's glaive with a clang. The Lizard Clan captain roared as he whirled around to find the source. Chris turned to see Roland and Salome thundering down the hillside towards the battlefield, accompanied by a few dozen soldiers.

"Step aside, lizard, or the next one skewers your head!" the elf called out.

"Coward!" Dupa roared. "Let's see you try!"

Lucia hissed. "Dupa, no!" she exclaimed.

Roland reined his horse in and raised his bow again. "You're no match for a true knight, lizard," he shouted.

Growling loudly, Dupa stabbed the butt of his glaive against the ground in frustration. "One day, warm-blood, we shall see," he bellowed. A collective cry rose from the assembled Lizard Clan warriors, as though their wordless voices backed their captain's statement.

Shivering, Chris motioned her horse forward. "Chief Lucia. Again, I promise that the terms laid forth will stand. Let us end the blood shed, at least for today. Mistakes have been made today…"

"Yes, Silver Maiden. A mistake has been made," Lucia said. "But the mistake is yours, in attacking the defenseless people of Karaya. Mark my words; this is not over. You ironheads cling to your city, but Karaya is more than a village. We will never yield."

Chris kept her eyes on the chieftain and tried to hide her shame behind a cool gaze. "We are leaving," she said.

Lucia's features contorted with poorly concealed rage as she looked up at Chris. Her words were spoken in a furious haste. "I am disappointed. I only hope that one day the spirits will give you children of your own, so that you can grasp the full extent of your cowardice on this day."

Chris froze, gaping. "He is…" she stammered, staring at Lucia. ((_Hugo is her son. Of course; how could I have ignored the obvious?_)) she chided herself.

Alron chuckled behind her. "Don't worry, barbarian. I'll get him back to you in _one piece_."

"Enough!" Chris snapped. She shot a murderous glare at the knight, but received no reaction beyond a cryptic smile. She turned her gaze on Lucia again. "Disappointed? Believe me, so am I. Were it I alone, I would surrender Hugo and die a warrior... But, you know the duties of a leader better than I do."

For a moment only, she thought she saw surprise in the chieftain's eyes. Chris turned her head, galloping through the path that opened as the barbarians parted like a wave.

((_Once we reach Brass Castle… Once we are safe…Goddess, grant me the strength to master myself until then!_)) she prayed.

**-Hugo-**

The first sensation Hugo felt was a dull ache that seemed to emanate from several spots, but suffused every fiber of his being. With awareness came understanding of what exactly that being was, and he began to recognize the pains in his jaw and side. Groaning, he struggled to open his eyes, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed him.

"It looks like our little rat is awake," a voice said. Though familiar, Hugo could not place it, except to attribute a sense of dread and anger to it. "Knock him out again," the voice added.

"No. He will not be further harmed," a woman's voice countered. The words were tense, but Hugo could not grasp the meaning of the conversation. Another wave of nausea caused him to shudder.

"Yes, milady," a third voice answered.

Hugo could hear the sound of hooves falling on dirt; a good many hooves, but even disoriented as he was, the absence of ambient voices seemed awry to him. Shaking his head, Hugo gasped for air and blinked, peering out at the world around him. At first, the waning light of the sun blinded him, but as his eyes began to adjust, he began to see armor-clad men and women astride horses. ((_Ironheads?_)) he thought, struggling for comprehension.

Hugo twisted, and felt something restrain him. Strong hands were holding him against the breastplate of a knight. The man himself was restraining him, he realized.

"L-let me go," he stuttered, but the words formed a weak growl.

Someone chuckled. "Not quite yet, barbarian," the man said.

Suddenly, Hugo recognized the voice, and with a start, he remembered. "You rune breaker!" he cursed at the knight with the gaunt face. His words were met by a cruel smile.

"Hugo, please listen to me," the woman said behind his back. Hugo recognized her voice as well.

"Chris! So _you're _the one who—"

"Hugo, _listen to me_!" she exclaimed.

Hugo turned as well as he could to watch her. He struggled against the strong grip of the knight, but he was too weak to wriggle free, exhausted as he was. "Why did you do this!" he shouted. Outrage and—for some reason—disappointment overwhelmed him. ((_Why would she do this?_)) he wondered.

Chris drew a sharp breath. "I had nothing to do with this!" she shouted.

Silence enveloped the knights as their eyes turned to their captain. For a few seconds, Hugo was speechless. ((_She's got to be lying,_)) he decided. "I—"

"Milady, look!" exclaimed a knight. A hum of surprise went through the assembled soldiers, and the knight's horse halted beneath Hugo.

"KWEEE!"

The ironheads' voices rose in shock as their horses whinnied and began to scatter. Their riders struggled to calm them even as Fubar swooped down. Hugo squinted against the setting sun and barely made out the silhouettes of three figures mounted upon the griffin's back.

The knights were shouting, and Hugo heard Chris issue stern commands to organize her troops. He tuned out the words, focusing on his friends. ((_Spirits, don't do anything rash!_)) he prayed.

"Hugo!" Lulu cried out as Fubar plunged towards the knights. The horse reared beneath Hugo, causing the knight to struggle with the reins and stirrup as Hugo fell against him.

"Stay away, Lu!" Hugo shouted. Growling, he bit his teeth into the unprotected wrist near his face and tore at the arm. The grip tightened, and held him fast. He kicked and buckled, fearing to fall off of the horse, but fearing all the more to remain restrained.

"Hugo, grab my hand!" Sergeant Joe called out.

"We'll catch you!" Lilly said. Hugo was surprised to hear her voice.

"No, stay away, they'll—" Hugo began.

The knight rammed his fist into his stomach, knocking the air from his chest. He winced, closing his eyes as he fought for air and against the pain. He heard Sergeant Joe scream something, but a dozen voices drowned out his. He opened his eyes.

Lulu leapt from Fubar's back, brandishing his dagger with a murderous glare. He sailed down, slamming into the knight and accidentally burying a knee in Hugo's side. Hugo gasped, and Lulu used the momentum to tear the knight from his saddle. The man fell with a scream and a thud, and Hugo regained his orientation in time to see his friend stab his knife into the knight's throat.

Alron shouted wordlessly as he motioned his horse towards them and raised his sword. Stumbling to his feet, Hugo caught the knight's arm with all his might on the downswing, stopping the blade short of Lulu's head. Alron glowered at him, and tossed him aside. Hugo slammed into the ground and rolled away, and saw his knife fastened onto the horse's barding with a leather strap. He leapt and tore the knife from its resting place, slamming the blade against Alron's sword.

Gritting his teeth, Hugo held his ground as Alron pushed against his weapon, forcing him back and down. Their faces met and their eyes locked in a cold struggle. Fubar's screeches split the air above. Slowly but surely, Hugo yielded his ground, tearing through the grass.

"Cease this at once!" Chris shouted. The sound of galloping hooves approached.

"You coward!" Lulu shouted behind his back. "I'll kill you for what you've done to my brother!" His voice was frantic, filled with mindless fury.

"Lu, d-don't…!" Hugo gasped. He wanted to turn, but he could not take his eyes off of Alron. The knight was smiling coldly, and his gaunt face was a mask of malice around his wide eyes.

Hugo retracted his dagger with a sudden jerk, lunging past Alron's outstretched sword and slamming his blade against it to knock it away. In an instant, he turned and ran—

Lulu screamed, charging to meet Chris' galloping horse. Hugo raised his eyes as he ran. He saw Chris' eyes widen and her sword leap from its sheath. Lulu leapt, grabbing the saddle and stabbing his knife—

Chris' sword pierced his stomach, protruding from his back as he fell back, sliding off the blade.

Hugo screamed, and the world seemed to succumb to silence. He screamed, as though his own heart had been pierced. He ran through the silent world, with eyes only for his friend, whose body slammed onto the ground. He threw himself down, fathoming Lulu's body, and he screamed. His face rose, and he barely registered Chris' shocked face as he shouted. The words that left his mouth seemed meaningless. He could not hear them.

He clasped his hands around Lulu's limp body and grasped his knife. His body was shaking, but in the silence, only Lulu seemed real. Only the blood that flowed from his chest seemed to matter.

He felt a tug, and he was dragged from the ground. He clutched Lulu and the knife with all of his might, and the wind ran over him as the ground shrank away beneath. Feathered hands grasped his shoulders.

When sound returned, he found that he was sobbing uncontrollably. Heedless, he rested in Sergeant Joe's arms, and in turn, he hugged Lulu's lifeless body to his own and felt his still-warm cheeks against his. The wind ruffled their hair, and droplets of blood and tears mixed with the sky as the spirits wrested Lulu's soul from the world.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the long delay; updates should come more frequently now that my Master's Thesis has been completed. 

Do you have any thoughts or comments? By all means, add a review! I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter, since I am not convinced of its quality. Even so, I am glad to have this over with. With this event handled, I am given greater freedom.

Just to make things clear, I do intend to tie the sack on this as a satisfying romance… Things do not seem so romantic at the moment, but just trust me; I am going somewhere with this.


	9. Requiem of Grief

**Note:** From now on, I will refer to people of the Lizard Clan as _saaraks_. This does not apply to the zexen, who have no interest in being politically correct. Comments on this are available in the author's notes at the end of the document.

Long delay, fairly short chapter… I hope it's a fun read, nonetheless.

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**-Hugo-**

"I feel as though I am to blame," Sergeant Joe said. His mournful words echoed through the cavernous tunnel, sounding hollow and despondent.

Hugo could not muster the strength to challenge the statement. He clutched Lulu's lifeless arms around him as he carried the boy on his back, and felt the warmth leaving his skin with each step through the passage. Fubar walked by his side, trying to catch his attention with sad glances.

"Had I… had I been able to make him see reason…" Joe stammered, "Then perhaps… But neither Lulu nor Fubar would listen to me. It was a foolish thing to do! It's really a wonder that we weren't turned into pincushions by the ironhead archers. I… but then…"

"Do not blame yourself, sergeant," Lilly stated. "You were not at fault." Though she spoke with conviction, a great deal of the girl's boisterous confidence had left with the color on her face, and she seemed pale and weak to Hugo where she walked a few steps ahead of him.

((_Do I look that weak, too? Maybe I'm worse. I feel numb_,)) Hugo thought.

For several minutes, Sergeant Joe said nothing, and the small group traveled in silence broken only by the griffin's occasional whines. They had spent hours in what Sergeant Joe had dubbed the 'Ancient Highway,' a passage beneath the Grasslands that connected the outskirts of Karaya with the Great Hollow, and safety. They had decided against the sky route, concerned that flight would be too dangerous with the ironheads dispersed across Amur Plains. Hugo's whole body felt numb, but he recognized the onset of fatigue in his legs, and his bruised body ached in more places than he knew he had been beaten.

"Hugo, you should let Fubar carry Lulu," Sergeant Joe pleaded. He cast a concerned look at Hugo.

"No," Hugo replied. ((_He has carried him far enough,_)) he thought. He spared a quick, lethargic glance at Fubar, but soon turned his eyes back to the tunnel ahead. The griffin would give whimpering squawks and brush up against him as they walked, and Hugo knew that the creature was crestfallen with empathy. Still, he felt too exhausted to offer even the simplest act of affection.

"It'll be near an hour yet, Hugo. Be reasonable; your body won't last forever."

From the shadows, a voice replied. "I concur." A chuckle followed the words.

"Who!" the sergeant shouted as he leveled his halberd towards the shadowed nook.

Lilly hissed, batting her torch towards the voice as she stepped forward and drew the slender rapier at her hip with her free hand. The shadows withdrew sluggishly, like water draining from a sieve. "Show yourself!" she shouted.

"I am right here," the voice proclaimed. Hugo gasped in choir with the others as the shadows began to dance. With a swirl of deeper darkness, the shadows coalesced into a stubby figure that stepped forward, clad in the night. With each step, the form grew more refined, until a black-clad man stood before them. His eyes were hidden behind the brim of a slanted hat.

"Stand aside," Hugo said coldly.

"We have no quarrel with you," the sergeant assured the grinning figure.

Lilly grit her teeth as she circled the man, holding her torch up against him as though she tried to see past some illusion.

"Pardon the drama. I really should have killed you without warning, but I found that one comment too funny not to make. Once you've been around for as long as I have…"

"What! Why?" Hugo spat, roused for a moment.

"You don't agree…? Oh, you mean the part about killing," the man said. "Does it matter?" he sighed. Under his breath, he mumbled, "I knew I should have kept silent…"

In an instant, the man's hands grasped silvery thin swords, and as he crossed the blades over his chest, a faint red light caught Hugo's eyes. Upon the metal, rows of carved runes burned with a crimson glow. For a moment, he stared upon them.

"King Crimson," the man hissed, "Share your wisdom with these children!" His voice turned to a shout as his swords parted like an eagle's wings, and waves of red light shot out from the blades. Time slowed to a crawl as the color solidified into spears that seemed to burgeon through the air, and Hugo threw up his arms as he stumbled back. Lulu's body pressed against the stone wall, and Hugo released his right hand to activate his rune. His vision wavered under the assault of the crimson light, and a dull roar began to emanate from the vortex of color that swirled in front of the black-clad man. The man lunged.

The world sprang into motion as Hugo sent a wave of air from his hand. The wind force bled emerald light as it slammed against the aura of color that surrounded the man, and maws of smoky red fog seemed to swallow and tear the green mist where the Wind Rune's attack had impacted. Motes of chaotic colors swam across Hugo's vision, blinding him. Halted for a moment, the man pressed the attack, raising his sword. Petrified with fear, Hugo struggled to see.

With a dismayed quack, Sergeant Joe stepped in front of Hugo and met the sword with his halberd. The weapons clashed, and the man slid the blade along the haft and stabbed the sword at the sergeant's body.

Joe yanked his halberd back and sidestepped the stab, losing a few feathers. He twirled his weapon around and aimed the butt at the man's flank. Metal rang against wood, and shadows tore through the writhing crimson aura to clutch the halberd's haft, stopping the weapon. Joe grunted in surprise, and Lilly swung her sword in a wide arc at the man's flank. He grinned and parried the attack with his right-hand sword. Hugo roared as he directed all of the energy that he could muster into a whirlwind and sent it slamming against the man. The aura of color flickered, but held.

The sergeant leapt back as he struggled to maintain hold of his weapon and parry the black-clad man's attacks. Simultaneously, Lilly pressed her attack, weaving past the upheld sword thrusting her own blade towards his side. With a flourish, the man sidestepped the attack and counterattacked. Lilly's hat was sliced from her head as she ducked, keeping her head. Her face lost all color. Sergeant Joe desperately thrust the head of the halberd against the man's sword, and the weapons clanged. Stepping towards the duck, the black-clad man let his blade slide off the haft and swung mercilessly.

Hugo heard Fubar's feet pad against stone before the griffin leapt, and the man diverted his attack to throw his swords up as a shield of deadly steel.

"No!" Hugo shouted, thrusting the force of the whirlwind towards the steel blades. Sparks flew as the crimson aura reacted, and the hiss of cooling metal filled the air. The Wind Rune howled, and tore a path through red light. The swords were pushed aside, and the griffin slammed into the man's chest, knocking him back.

Sweat ran down Hugo's forehead as he focused on the spell. An eldritch gale rushed through the cavern, causing his clothes to flitter. He applied his will on affecting the man's blades as Fubar grappled with the man. The crimson aura seemed to singe the griffin's feathers, causing the creature to shriek with pain between snaps of its jaws.

Over the course of the short battle, Lilly had positioned herself on the opposite side of the man. "Get over here!" she shouted.

Sergeant Joe grasped Hugo's arm as he ran past him. Grabbing Lulu, Hugo stumbled towards Lilly. As he ran, he heard a roar of frustration, and Fubar shrieked.

Hugo's heart skipped a beat as he saw Fubar's body tossed past him. The griffin slammed into the stone floor twenty feet down the tunnel and raised a cloud of dust as it rolled around several times before coming to a rest.

"Fubar!" Hugo shouted, running towards the beast. Fearfully he turned his eyes to watch the man rise from the ground, seemingly unaffected.

"This is pointless," he said. "It's time to end this!" Once again, the man crossed his swords over his chest. He took a single step forward and unleashed a slash through the air, sending waves of sharp, red light towards them.

The crimson arcs caught up to Sergeant Joe as he ran, and slammed into his body. Blood sprayed from his back as the waves tore deep wounds in his flesh.

Shouting wordlessly, Hugo threw himself towards the sergeant. He heard laughter, and the shadows seemed to shudder all around him, vibrating with potent fervor.

Lilly quivered with fear as she pulled the black leather glove from her right hand. "Y-you should learn not to play around in tunnels!" she shouted. She held up her slim hand, displaying the back with stubborn determination. Upon its surface was branded the sigil of the Earth Rune.

The black-clad man had time to shout "NO!" while motes of brownish light began to dance around Lilly's arm. The ground rumbled, and the man's red aura faded as his body was embraced my shadows. With the roar of rubble, the ceiling collapsed, bringing down a mass of stone upon the path where the man stood.

Lilly sighed with great relief, and silence enveloped the passage. She was pale, and shivered. Hugo breathed raggedly, turning his eyes from Lilly to Sergeant Joe. He cursed as he funneled the meager strength he had left into a healing wind to envelop the duck's flowing wounds. He heard Fubar rouse somewhere nearby.

The wound would not close. "It's not enough," he mumbled. His heart pounded fiercely as fear propelled his blood, and he seethed with helpless fury.

Lilly knelt down by Hugo's side. "I… I can fortify the flesh around the wound, but little else…" she stammered.

Hugo nodded. "I'm too weak," he rasped. "We have to get him to the Great Hollow."

Lilly nodded. "Fubar can carry them both," she said.

Hugo's weary eyes turned to the griffin as it loped up towards him. The beast was bruised and beaten, and its feathers were dirty with dirt and grime. He grit his teeth, and nodded.

((_Oh, spirits, I don't want to return with _two _corpses,_)) he lamented.

**-Chris-**

"How _dare _you!" Chris growled. She stared into the eyes of the unperturbed knight before her, and glared. She had balled her hands into fists, mostly to keep them occupied. The blinding anger from before had passed with time, but in its stead, a livid sensation of outrage had caught her moods. With his hand casually placed on the hilt of his sword, Alron seemed as calm as ever.

Once inside Brass Castle, the group had quickly retired to the knights' quarters and gathered in the anteroom. Chris stood at the center, staring down Alron, while the others were arrayed in a loose circle around them.

"Milady?" Alron asked. He seemed confused, but the faintest trace of amusement creased his lips; enough to raise Chris' ire, but too little to be sure.

Chris straightened her back imperiously as she met the calm in his eyes. "I will be quite clear, Alron. The Knights of Zexen do _not _take hostages, nor do they _arbitrarily_ capture _children _to use in like manner. Your—"

"Arbitrarily?" Alron questioned. "The council ordered the boy's arrest."

"Interrupt me again, and you will no longer be a knight," Chris snapped. She came close to shouting, but managed to moderate her voice.

Alron frowned, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but opted to remain silent.

((_Arrested? Has the world gone mad, or the council alone?_)) Chris wondered. "On what grounds were Hugo arrested?" she demanded to know.

"Conspiracy to commit murder, milady," Alron replied.

"What!" Chris spat. "That is absurd."

"Those were the council's orders," Alron said. He seemed angered at the implication. The revelation caused a buzz among the assembled knights, and the murmurs of hushed conversations reached Chris' ears.

"I will deal with that later," she said firmly. "You have greatly disgraced the Knights of Zexen, and I do not know that your career will survive this infamy. What possessed you to do this?" Chris wondered. ((_How could a knight do such a thing…?_)) She struggled with the thought.

"I serve the council however I may, milady," Alron said.

"Incorrect," Chris said coldly. "You serve the Knights of Zexen; a far higher ideal than the council. Now we must do what we can to salvage some of our honor. Where are you keeping the villagers?" she demanded.

"Nowhere," he replied.

"This is not the time for games, Alron," she said with a glare. She struggled to contain her temper and keep her composure.

"It was a ruse," he said. "They're all dead."

A moment of silence passed between them, and then Chris lost control. She stepped forward, and before the knight could react, she rammed her fist into his face, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

In the next instant, she realized the ramifications. ((_Oh, Goddess, that fiend!_))

"Milady!" Salome exclaimed. "This is…"

Alron grunted, but chuckled as he wiped blood from his face and broken nose. "I know the laws," he said. Two of the knights stepped in from the sidelines to help him stand. "Striking a knight… Silver Maiden; you should know better."

"Alron…!" Borus shouted. "Don't!"

Alron smirked. "I look forward to seeing the honorable laws of the Knights of Zexen upheld. You must be thrilled to be able to show me the virtue of the knights, _milady_," he sneered.

Chris fumed, but gave no response. "I will contemplate your fate at another time. Pending the investigation, you are relieved of your command, and may not act as a Knight of Zexen until such time that your name is cleared of these villainous charges." ((_Which will be never,_)) she assured herself. "Get out of my sight. Now."

Without a word, Alron wove past the crowd and left the chamber, followed by the knights who had steadied him, and continued to support him as the man seemed to exaggerate his injury.

When the door closed behind her, Chris drew a deep breath.

"Milady, that was too rash," Salome said. "I agree that his actions were unfortunate and inexcusable, but there will be uncomfortable repercussions for what you did. You know the laws…"

"I know the laws, Salome," Chris said with a curt nod. Her fist ached, but she made no move to soothe it. Instead, she turned and sat down in a high-backed chair beneath the great stained-glass windows. "The Knight's Code forbids what I just did, and as captain, I should exemplify the code. Even so, I do not regret it. What Alron did was a far greater breach of the code, and worse yet, the _ideals _of the knights. I believe that as captain, it is my duty to uphold the ideals first, and the code second. If I break a minor point in the code to do so, then so be it. Besides, he is no longer a knight in my eyes. Ironically, there's no point in the code that forbids striking a citizen." ((_Truth to be told, had my hand been grasping a hilt, he might have met with the same fate as that boy,_)) she thought mournfully. Her blood was still pumping with righteous indignation, but the thought of the child she had skewered on her sword caused her heart to sink.

Though Salome and several of the knights seemed unconvinced, they held their peace. Tentatively, the others began to take seats, tired from the rigors of a full day and violent night. Several of the lower ranked knights began to filter out, saluting as they went.

Salome grimaced. "Now that the madness has lifted, we must begin to make repairs. The state of things… Everything is in chaos. The truce, I fear, has been broken beyond mending."

"How fare our troops?" Chris wondered.

"Given the circumstances, fairly well," Salome said. "Thanks to Leo's efforts, the camp was fortified and well defended around the arsenal. Besides, once the… attack on Karaya was underway, the barbarians were too distracted to hold the Amur Plains, much less press the attack. By now, Leo should have broken camp and withdrawn the supply train quite near Brass Castle. I expect him to return before dawn, and I have taken the liberty of sending several contingents of knights on patrol duty to ensure that his flanks are clear."

"Excellent, Salome," Chris said. She closed her eyes for a moment as she laid her hands on her lap. Drawing another deep breath, she tried to calm herself, and sighed as she grew aware of a splitting headache. ((_Hugo…I pray to the Goddess that you are well,_)) she thought. "What about the barbarians; what are they doing?" she asked.

"They seem to remain calm for now, milady," Percival answered. "As far as our scouts have been able to tell, they have retreated to the Great Hollow."

"We should expect a counterattack soon," Salome said. "The Lizard Clan especially will demand blood to balance the scales, before even beginning to consider a future armistice."

Chris shifted uncomfortably on the fluffy pillow upon her seat. "If possible, I would like to dissuade such an attack. Though far-fetched at the time, the truce remains our objective."

Salome nodded. "Indeed. It is helpful that you spared the boy from our archers. Ordering them to stand down might have opened a venue for salvaging this debacle… Perhaps, in time."

"Yes, Chief Lucia's son…"

"I gathered as much," Salome said.

"That little group seems to show up an awful lot around us," Percival said.

Borus snorted. "I don't trust the boy," he proclaimed. The knight had hastily doffed his blood-stained armor upon reaching the castle, but without a proper bath, his guise seemed that of a dread specter of battle.

"I cannot imagine that the allegations leveled against him by the council could be true," Chris said simply. Reminded of Borus' presence, she turned her eyes on him. "Borus, I wish to know what part you played in the attack on Karaya." ((_All that blood… from what?_)) she wondered. She was not sure that she wanted to hear the answer, but she had to.

Borus appeared to be stunned for a moment, but then cleared his throat. "My captain, I swear; I followed Alron out of loyalty to a fellow knight; no more. I did not participate in this… slaughter of innocents," he said. His voice faltered on the word _slaughter_, and he swallowed uncomfortably.

"I see," Chris said, letting the matter lie. "There is much to discuss; we need to find a way to stem further bloodshed before our hand is forced."

Percival frowned at her. "Milady, we would all benefit more from your leadership if you were to get some sleep, first," he suggested.

"I agree," Salome said. "Pace yourself, milady. You have us all worried; I see the same fatigue in you as I did in the captain before… the end."

Chris shook her head. ((_There is no time to rest!_)) she thought. She frowned as she met their eyes. ((_I loathe those looks of concern. Do they all think me so weak?_)) she wondered.

With a sigh, she stood from the uncomfortable chair. "Very well," she agreed. "A few hours of sleep, perhaps."

The others stood as well, and Salome nodded. "Your maid has returned unharmed from the camp; she is in your chambers now," he said.

Chris nodded, and left the anteroom through the great double doors. At the door to her quarters, she was surprised to see someone else instead of Sophia, before she remembered Jena. The maid gossiped incessantly as she drew a bath, and when the water was prepared, Chris sent her away. "Leave me," she said. "I wish to be alone."

Her clothes were damp with blood and sweat as she stripped them off, and her body ached in tune with her head. When she reached down to unbuckle her sword, she remembered that it was not hers, and her thoughts turned back to when Percival had offered her his sword just after the retreat.

"If…" She drew a deep breath and sobbed, opting to let the rest of the words remain in her mind as she stepped into the water. ((_If I had not accepted the sword, I would not have killed that child,_)) she lamented. Sinking down into the bath tub, she sobbed. ((_Goddess, what have I done? On my honor, it was never my intention to let it end that way!_)) she swore, trying to convince herself.

Though hot, the bath water failed to warm her chilled heart. The walls seemed too narrow, the colors too bleak, as she cried.

**-Hugo-**

The soft voices of the clan chiefs narrowly rose above the crackle of the bonfire in their midst, and the heat of the flames smote Hugo's skin. He sat in silence, struggling to focus even though his presence had been requested among the men and women of the clans for the first time. The true weight upon his heart had lain dormant until daybreak following his arrival at the Great Hollow. There was no sunrise in the _saaraks_' damp caverns, but out of habit Hugo had risen with the dawn, only to find a desperate burden on his mind.

Though weak, Sergeant Joe had been stabilized by the _saarak _healers, and he would survive, given enough rest. Hugo, aside from a crippling bear hug suffered at the hands of his mother, felt bruised, but fine: His pain did not stem from the flesh. At this Council of Chieftains, his mother sat in front of him, and slightly to the left. Occasionally she would crane her neck backwards to frown worriedly at him, but he could not muster the energy to assuage her fears as he normally would. Lulu's mother, Luce, was absent. Through whispers, he had gathered that she was stricken with grief, but he had not sought her out. ((_I do not have the courage to talk to her. Not until… things have been set right,_)) he thought, feeling a pang of shame. Though no one spoke openly to place the blame upon him, he could not shake the deep-set feeling of guilt in his gut.

Once the formalities were set aside, Dupa was the first to speak. "The ironheads are weak in the spirit; they slave under the image of their goddess, and understand no order that doesn't stem from power," he mused. "It was a mistake to expect a peaceful solution from them." His words carried the heat of a seething rage. Though contained by the warrior, it fuelled his behavior. With the death of Chief Zepon, Dupa spoke for the _saaraks_, but no clan chief could be elevated from among the warriors before the death of the chieftain had been avenged.

"There was no mistake in seeking a peaceful solution, Dupa," Sana said. Despite the heat from the crackling bonfire, the elderly leader of the Chisha pulled her shawl closer around her ears.

A snarl escaped Dupa's throat, but the _saarak_ dispelled the visceral reaction before speaking. "This _truce_ has exacted a hefty price, Sana. Do you say it was worth it?" The warmth of the flame, reflected in the warrior's eyes, seemed to return a cold fire as he glowered at the old woman.

A few seconds passed in silence, and Hugo glanced at his mother to see a blank face, hiding emotion.

"I grieve for each life returned to the spirits," Sana said. "Do not think me callous, _saarak_. Even so… this wheel of blood and hatred has spun for generations. We must make sacrifices if we are to break it."

"Sacrifices! The _ironheads_ will make sacrifices before we are appeased!" Dupa spat. "Lucia, you cannot agree with this nonsense!"

Hugo saw his mother's hands grasp at the soft fabric of her pants. "Dupa… As chieftain of the karaya, I must first look after the living," she said, staring at the fire. "I need to know what happened to the survivors before I can choose a course for us all."

Dupa bowed his head. "We grieve for you. Having lost the most, you must decide the future of the clans. Even so, we _saaraks_ are honor-bound to avenge Chief Zepon, who remains the leader of the Great Hollow. It pains me," he added after a moment's hesitation, "To say that I do not believe there are any survivors."

"Chris wouldn't lie about it," Hugo blurted out. His words startled the others, who had not expected him to speak at all during his first council.

Lucia reacted with a snort, and a glare. "Hugo! Calm down," she said firmly.

Hugo lowered his head and felt glad that that orange glow of the bonfire obscured the flush on his face. ((_I don't know why I trust her word. But… she didn't seem like the kind of person who would lie. She _wouldn't_ lie,_)) he told himself.

"The ironheads have no honor as we understand it, young Hugo," Dupa said with a growl. "You're too young to grasp that there are people in this world who lack honor."

"That's not true!" Hugo said. Even with the heat from the bonfire, he could feel his cheeks burn, but he did not let the disapproving looks keep him from speaking. "I mean… I agree," he said, clearing his throat, "I do understand there are people like that, but not Ch—…Not the Silver Maiden."

Dupa shook his head. "This warmblood killed your friend. How can you defend her?"

Hugo felt a pang of guilt that was difficult to shunt; even more so when he found that he wanted to feel guilty. It seemed appropriate. ((_He's right. I hate her for what she did to Lulu, but… I still don't think she's a liar. I still don't think she could order a slaughter of defenseless men and women,_)) he thought. He made as if to speak, but could not find the words.

Lucia pursed her lips as she watched him, and then shook her head. "Enough, Hugo. What proof do you have of this?" She faltered for a moment, visibly disturbed by the implications, should Dupa be correct. "You have spoken your mind. Now you will defer to your chieftain and hold your tongue," she said with finality.

Hugo frowned, but he nodded his head, submitting to his mother's will. ((_The council holds no soil for the tree that will not bend,_)) he thought, remembering the old adage. ((_They will not listen to me. Not here, not now. Why am I so sure…? Chris killed Lu… She killed him, and still I defend her?_)) The thoughts came unbidden, wresting control of his mind before he could push them aside.

The chieftains continued to discuss in voices that waxed and waned with heat, reaching no conclusion. The firewood crackled upon the bonfire. The Council of Chieftains would last until the last embers were extinguished.

**-Percival-**

The sound of footfalls; metal against stone, rang out beneath Percival's feet as he crossed the corridor. An indeterminate feeling of anxiety caused him to tap his hip, feeling the absence of the sword that he had offered to Chris before the retreat. Sighing, he turned a corner, and stopped.

"Borus?" he blurted out.

The blonde knight was leaning against the wall, pressing against a faded old tapestry depicting a scene of Zexen's aggrandized past. Hearing Percival, he turned his head and grimaced. His face was ragged, and his eyes bleary. "Percival," he said, clearing his throat, and standing straight. He seemed to notice the tapestry for the first time, and watched it with surprise for a second before making a vain attempt to smooth its surface with his gauntleted hand.

"Would I be presumptuous, were I to suggest that you seem distressed?" Percival asked dryly, twisting his lips into a wry smirk.

"You would," Borus said, "But you would be correct." The knight paced, sighing as he tried to find a use for his idle hands.

"Pray tell?" Percival said, approaching.

"It is a matter of some delicacy," Borus claimed.

"I believe you," Percival said, nodding. Cocking his head to one side, he peered at the knight. "Does this… have something to do with… Karaya?" he inquired cautiously.

Borus' eyes hardened, and he seemed startled before he composed himself. "Do you doubt me?" he said in a hard voice.

"Huh? You're being far too defensive about it, Borus. I hardly said a thing."

"You are right. I'm… sorry. I've tried so hard to be a shining example, a champion of Zexen."

Percival frowned slightly. "What is this about?"

Borus shook his head, sighing. "I do not believe that our captain would approve of what I did."

"You're… talking about what happened at Karaya? When you were with Alron?" Percival asked. ((_Did you lie to her, Borus…? No, I mustn't ask that. His reaction would be… I don't know, unpredictable,_)) he mused.

"It's…" Borus began, and then paused. "No, it's nothing. I have duties to attend to. I shall see you at the conference later." Without further explanation, Borus inclined his head slightly and walked off.

Percival watched him go, uncertain about how to feel. ((_We live the same life, breathe the same air, but we are not so close, in some ways. How well do I know Borus, or Roland…? It would be easier to know what's troubling him if we had spent more time off duty,_)) he thought.

Metal clanged against stone as Percival turned to continue down the corridor. No matter the truth, he realized, Borus' incomplete admission gave rise to a sinking feeling in his stomach.

**-Hugo-**

The wind howled, whipped into a frenzy of a gale that seemed to wait for dawn, refusing to abate as the night drew on. Hugo felt his hair toss back and forth with the fickle winds as he danced to the beat of the burial rite, and it seemed to him that the spirits of the wind and earth had come out to honor his friend.

Lulu's pale corpse was placed on the ground before him, obscured by tall grass that moved in undulating waves with the passage of the wind. A mournful full moon accompanied the stars, shedding its pale silvery light upon the ritual as Hugo slashed Lulu's dagger through the wind, moving to the motions of the dance.

Turning, twisting, he beat down the grasses in a circle surround his friend's body, drawing the dead boy's dagger through the air to attract the attention of the wind spirits.

"Spirits," he whispered, "Tonight I honor the gift of life; the life breathed into he who we called Lulu." He spoke softly, and the wind stole the sound from his ears. He knew that he was alone with the spirits, and that the wind would carry his voice to them without fail. "Now, he has returned to you, having satisfied his curiosity; having known life. We will miss him, as I know that you have missed him, while he stayed with us." Hugo swallowed, feeling tears well up in his eyes. Closing his eyes, he slashed Lulu's dagger in a wide arc and exhaled. "I thank you for the time we were blessed with his presence. I will remember, and treasure these memories." Stopping in mid-motion, Hugo turned and knelt before his friend's body, watching the wan skin. "His soul has been returned to the wind already, and I will now return his body to the earth. That which we borrowed from you, I will return."

Hugo trembled as he reached out his hand and clasped Lulu's cold fingers in his own. Unable to contain his grief, he wept, but quickly collected himself to speak. "Lulu… I don't know if you can understand me, still, but… I swear, upon your birth weapon, which your mother made while waiting for you… and upon my birth weapon, which my mother made while waiting for me… I will avenge you; I will set things right. I-I…I'm so sorry. The one responsible for your death… I will kill that person, myself. So I swear." ((_Chris… I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong; that you're not at fault. I feel awful, for Lu's sake, but I hope I'm right. However, if you're the one to blame for all of this, I cannot forgive you for what you did, no matter what,_)) he vowed himself.

The howling wind obscured the sound of his weeping as he dug his best friend's grave.

- - -

The sun was rising when Hugo finished, and though the wind had abated somewhat with the passage of time, his grief had not. The earth was dark where he had overturned it, and with the finality of the burial, a cold, silent rage was beginning to match his sorrow.

Hugo felt soft arms around his neck, and turned his head to see his mother's weak smile. He said nothing, but did not try to escape her grasp.

"It's not right for children to bury children," she said with a sigh, "But you did well. It's hard to believe that my little boy is already upholding these traditions…"

"I'm not a child anymore, mother," Hugo protested with a faint voice.

Lucia sighed. "No? I guess not, but I don't like to think of it that way." Releasing his neck, she placed a hand on his shoulder and stood at his side to watch the freshly dug grave. "Whatever happened to the little one, who chased the winds; who made it his life's quest to catch a wind spirit…? Will I ever see that bright star again?" she mused, sighing.

"I don't think so, mother," Hugo said miserably.

"Hugo…" Lucia said, "Don't spend your life trying to avenge others. The dead do not thirst for blood, though I learned this lesson too late. I made that mistake, and I don't want to see you make the same one."

Hugo turned to look into her eyes. "With grandfather?"

Lucia nodded slowly. Her eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment before she spoke. "After my fathered was murdered, poisoned by those greedy men, all I could think of was vengeance. I sought the enemies of my enemy, and would have allied myself with the vilest of rune breakers just to have my 'justice.'"

"What should you have done? You couldn't have just accepted it," Hugo said.

Lucia shook her head. "I chased ghosts, searching for vengeance at any cost. I'm not saying it's wrong to seek justice, but… Is that what Lulu would want?"

Hugo turned away his eyes to hide the tears in his eyes. "I just… can't accept it."

"I know," Lucia whispered, embracing him.

Feeling embarrassed, Hugo pulled out of her grasp and cleared his throat, wiping tears on his sleeve. "I haven't even thought about all the others. I've only thought of Lulu… The Zexens… I can't understand how Chris could do that. Grandfather's murderers, and this… the ironheads never change," he spat.

"Not all of them are like that," Lucia said.

"But _who isn't_?" he snapped.

Lucia smiled. "I think… it's time I gave you something…" she said. From behind her back, she pulled out a bundle, something wrapped in a bright cloth. Without a word, she handed it to him.

Hugo accepted the bundle with a bemused frown. Feeling along its length, he could tell that it contained a hard object even before he began to unwrap it. "What's this…?" he mumbled.

"Careful," Lucia said.

"It belonged to your father," Lucia said.

Hugo's heart skipped a beat, and he gaped as he removed the layers of cloth to find a sheathed sword within. "This… it's a sword!"

"Astute of you," Lucia said dryly.

In the dim pre-dawn light, Hugo could barely make out the features of the weapon. The hilt was wrapped with black leather, or perhaps a dark brown obscured by the night, and the bronze pommel was ringed by a strip of blue cloth. Likewise, the angled cross-guard and the tip of the sheath were bronze, and another strip of blue cloth delineated the guard from the handle. Pulled from its gray sheath, the sword gleamed in the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon.

"My… father's sword…?" Hugo gasped.

"Yes," Lucia confirmed.

((_She's told me next to nothing about my father for all these years…_)) "Why now?" he wondered aloud.

"You're old enough, and I think you should have it. After what's happened… and what will come to pass…" she explained.

Eyeing the sharp blade, Hugo frowned. "But I don't know how to use it…"

"Jimba can teach you," Lucia said simply.

"Who was my father?" Hugo blurted out. His cheeks burned, and his heart beat quickly, but he could not contain the question. ((_For all these years, she's skirted the subject. Is she going to tell me, now?_)) he wondered.

Lucia sighed. "It's not the right time," she said.

"Why? When is the right time? Will there ever be a right time!" Hugo questioned. Frowning, he sheathed the sword clumsily.

"Yes. Some day, I promise. I… just don't want you to follow his path. I don't want you to become entangled in what he was… what others would expect of you… what you would expect of yourself. Am I making any sense?"

"No," Hugo said, sighing.

Lucia smiled wryly. "Trust me?"

Dismayed, Hugo let her wait for several seconds before answering. "I do," he admitted.

"Good," Lucia said. "It's cold… let's return to the hollow before you catch a cold."

Hugo rolled his eyes and hefted his father's sword symbolically. "You go first," he said. After she had left, he sat studying the sword, pretending that the cold morning wind did not touch him. He had already sheathed Lulu's knife, his birth weapon, and struggled with the best way to fasten the sword to his clothes.

((_It seems that a man's life becomes burdened with yet more weapons as time passes. How many blades will I leave behind when the spirits welcome _me _back…?_)) he wondered.

The orange glare of the sun began to warm his back as dawn came.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I have always thought it odd that the term "Lizard Clan" was used by the people of the Great Hollow to refer to their own kin. Certainly there is precedent for such monikers in our own world, especially among primitive tribes, but the term "lizard" seems derogatory at best in my ears. The people of Zexen pay no heed to this cultural name, preferring to simply call them lizards, or barbarians. The decision to introduce a unique term for their race was meant to make it easier for myself in the future. I had planned to introduce this term earlier, but I missed the timing and had to skip it when it became relevant. I hope this decision does not cause a lot of confusion.

As always, reviews are much appreciated. It's always useful to know what works and what doesn't, so feel free to just drop me a line about specific lines or events that you thought were good or bad.

**Next Chapter:** Betrayal, vengeance, and an assassination attempt with an unpredicted outcome! Plus, a cameo from an old character in an unexpected position…


	10. Tension

Regarding Hugo's father: Based on the official "clues" provided by Konami in and out of the games, I have drawn my own conclusion, and for the purposes of this story, he is the father. I will reveal more as the story progresses.

I realized as I was writing this that the chapter will probably come off as rather dark. Think of it as a tunnel, and know that eventually, there will be light at the end.

* * *

**-Lucia-**

After the Council of Chieftains, Lucia had slept through the day and emerged from the caverns of the Great Hollow to greet the setting sun. Though grateful for the hospitality of the _saaraks_, the wind and earth were in her blood, and she could not abide the stone walls of their caverns for too long. The feeling of the soft grasses beneath her bare feet was enough to wash a part of her fears from her heart, and allow her a moment's respite. It was enough. ((_You're hardly a friend, Time, not even stopping for a moment to pay your condolences,_)) she thought wryly.

Lucia's thoughts were scattered when she heard some commotion from near the entrance to the Great Hollow. Making her way down the slope, she walked hurriedly towards the sound, and reached the sunlit gorge in time to see a meeting. Seeing the black-haired woman greet the _saarak_ warriors, Lucia smirked.

"You're late! You missed the council," she shouted.

The woman gave a start, and turned. Immediately, Lucia saw that her usual confidence was stretched. She seemed tense.

"Lucia," she said. "In retrospect, I should have traveled swifter." Her voice was tired, though she strained to hide that fact.

Hurrying up to the woman, Lucia frowned as she scanned her features, and found that her features were filled with signs of the fatigue she tried to hide. "What's wrong, Rina?" she wondered.

Craning her neck to meet Lucia's eyes, Rina smiled wearily. "You're as tall as ever, Lucia. Only a formidable man would dare approach you," she rasped.

Lucia casually stepped backwards before she spoke. "I'm not shrinking yet, and you didn't come here to comment on my love life," she said, "You look tense enough to scare away even the most hideous of drunken suitors."

Rina closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her temples with a silent groan. The runes on her bare palms and forehead still shone with a pale light, a testament to their recent usage. "Harmonia," she muttered.

"What!" Lucia spat.

"My sentiments exactly," Rina said. "They're pouring in over the mountains, and they've dislodged us from our villages." She made no attempt to hide her anger.

((_First the Karaya, then the Safir,_)) Lucia thought. ((_Is there a pattern to these events?_)) she wondered, breathing calmly to still her pounding heart. "What about the refugees?" she asked.

"With the Chisha, for now… But the Harmonians seem intent on crossing into the Grasslands, and I don't think we can stop them. They have some _most_ talented rune-bearers," she said, voice thick with irritation.

"We must discuss this at once," Lucia said. "Come," she added, and led the way into the Great Hollow. The gentle breeze that had soothed her spirits moments before had built to a gale, and the cool wind chilled her to the core.

The last crimson light of the sun followed their path, but faded before reaching them.

**-Chris-**

The thundering footsteps of a dozen knights beat in tune with Chris' splitting headache as she hurried down the corridor towards the battlements. The wind caught her hair as she stepped out onto the wood-paneled parapet, but the strict braids barely budged.

"How long until they are here?" she asked.

"According to our reports, about a day's worth of marching," Salome replied solemnly. "Depending on how we react, our skirmishers will meet their scouts before that."

Chris tightened her lips and looked out across the billowing fields of the Amur Plains. The earthen colors of the land, clad in verdant green, showed little sign of the battle that had been fought there mere days ago, and no hint at all of what would come. ((_No matter how much blood is absorbed, the Grasslands remain ever green,_)) she mused. ((_Who said that?_)) she wondered for a moment, but abandoned the thought to concentrate on the present. Her headache made it difficult.

"The problem lies in their intent. _My_ intent is to avoid antagonizing the Harmonian Army, Salome," she said. "What are their numbers?"

Salome cleared his throat as he stepped up next to her and leaned his elbow against a wind-swept merlon. "It's hard to tell, so far. Our scouts have been less than successful, especially with the stirring of the barbarians," he admitted.

"Estimate," Chris demanded.

"Thirty thousand," he said. "Perhaps more."

Even the wind could not still the murmur of whispers that issued from the knights present on the parapet.

"With Goddess knows how many rune-bearers," Chris said. "We stand no chance of matching them in the field; that much is clear, and must be recognized."

"You are correct, milady," he said simply.

Chris crossed her arms over her breastplate. She felt trapped, restricted by the weight of the armor; an uncharacteristic feeling. The wind tugged at the restrained tresses of her hair, and for a moment, she felt an urge to let it flow. Shaking the sensation, Chris turned to regard Salome.

"They will send a messenger. We must first ascertain their intent, the reason for this invasion. Their efforts might be centered on the Safir Clan, but their soldiers are already spilling into the Grasslands. Do they seek to subjugate the Grasslanders, or will they march on Zexen?" she mused. ((_Will Zexen stand idly by and watch the Grasslanders suffer under the fist of Harmonia? How many will care, should that come to pass?_)) The thought was bleak, and she could not decide how to feel about it. "We must be prepared for the worst," Chris said. "What will we do if Harmonia intends to conquer Zexen?" she asked.

"The most logical response… is surrender," Salome said.

"That's absurd!" Borus exclaimed. "Our pride as knights forbids it!" Similar voices were raised by others, but his shout gave voice to them all.

Chris regarded Borus calmly, and sighed inwardly.

"I'm not saying I enjoy entertaining the notion," Salome said. He moderated the tone of his voice, but Chris sensed irritation beneath his calm words. "The knights exist to protect the people of Zexen. The Harmonians are ruthless conquerors; those who resist are treated like slaves. Fighting for the glory of Zexen might be a romantic ideal, but who are we to—"

"Salome, enough," Chris said calmly. ((_This headache is clouding my judgment, and spoiling my manners,_)) she noted with irritation. "You are both correct, in a sense. The pride of the knights demands of us that we put our heart into whatever we decide to do. Fighting and losing against Harmonia is far worse than surrendering. We must weigh our options carefully. There might be a way to turn a potential invasion aside, if we play to our advantages. How much does Harmonia want Zexen? How far are they willing to go to conquer this region? We could never hope to match the might of Harmonia, but a fraction of it…?" ((_How far are _we _willing to go to preserve our perceived freedom?_)) she wondered idly.

Loud footfalls from the corridor alerted Chris and the knights to the arrival of a messenger. The boy fell to a knee and saluted. "Silver Maiden!"

"That is not a proper title, young man. You will address me as Captain, or madam," Chris instructed.

"Y-yes, madam," the boy replied sheepishly. "Madam, there's an envoy from the Harmonians!"

Chris drew a deep breath, and nodded. ((_So, we will know,_)) she thought, exhaling.

The walk to the meeting room was a wordless procession, but the silence betrayed the nervousness of a dozen uncertain hearts, too tense to speak before the question in their minds had been answered. It seemed to Chris that the corridors of Brass Castle had never been so long, so expansive.

The man in the opulent meeting room had opted to remain standing, and his strict posture suggested that he was a soldier. The smart uniform in blue and white fit him well. His homely face was framed by thick sideburns, with a hawk's nose at the center.

Upon their entry, he took a step forward and closed his eyes, tracing a circle on his own forehead. When he opened his eyes again, he smiled tightly. "Silver Maiden," he said, "I am pleased to be Dios, adjutant to the Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai, Beloved of the Circle Rune, and Defender of Holy Harmonia."

((_I should have never been so lenient towards the use of that ridiculous epithet,_)) Chris decided. Stepping forward to shake the man's outstretched hand, she inclined her head slightly. "I am Captain Chris Lightfellow, commander of the Knights of Zexen. Please, have a seat."

"If you don't mind," Dios said, "I much prefer to stand."

"As you wish," Chris agreed, remaining standing before him. Naturally, none of the knights took a seat.

"No doubt you are curious to know why Holy Harmonia, under the grace of the Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai, has reached its hand into the Grasslands," Dios said.

"That is a correct assumption, Adjutant. Please, go on," Chris urged cautiously. Her heart was beating like a drum, but she kept her posture, looking up at the significantly taller man, and pretended as though she were the eye of the storm, preternaturally calm.

"You may rest assured that Holy Harmonia, under the grace of the Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai, is pleased not to oppose Zexen or its allies," Dios said.

Though no one spoke a word, Chris could sense a stir of mixed relief and confusion. Being confused as well, Chris raised her eyebrows slightly before speaking. "You understand, of course, how this must seem to us. Might one inquire about Holy Harmonia's intent? About Bishop Sasarai's intent?"

"I cannot answer for Holy Harmonia," Dios said with a crooked smile, "But the Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai intends to still the pagans, and spread the One True Faith into the Grasslands."

((_The mindless worship of the Circle Rune, and its bearer, Hikusaak,_)) Chris thought to herself. ((_This is not a relief,_)) she concluded. "You are conquering the Grasslands, then?" she wondered.

Dios clasped his hands beneath his back and hesitated for a moment before responding. The hilt of his sword protruded from his side, and seemed a poignant reminder of Harmonia's strength. A common messenger would never have been allowed to retain his weapon here.

"The Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai does not wish to think of it that way. Holy Harmonia has a duty to protect the people in the borderlands against savage pagans such as the Grasslanders. It is the Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai's intent to stem the recent tide of violence directed at Harmonian citizens," Dios explained.

((_Tide of violence? This sounds like a hollow excuse,_)) Chris thought. "I see. I had no idea this was such a major problem," she baited.

"I would hardly call it a problem," Dios said. "Even so, Holy Harmonia cannot shirk its duties towards its citizens. Pagans must be made to see the true light."

((_The Grasslanders can stand against the Harmonians no more than we can… but they will never surrender without a fight… and Zexen will watch from the sidelines,_)) Chris theorized. The thought did not sit well with her, though she could not determine exactly why.

"Very well, Adjutant. Thank you, and Bishop Sasarai, for thinking to inform us of your intentions. You have… eased our hearts," she said.

"Naturally," Dios said. "We are to be allied in this endeavor, after all."

((_What game is this?_)) Chris wondered. The sound of creaking leather joints alerted her to the confused motion of the knights around her. "I beg your pardon?" she said.

Dios offered a look of mild confusion. "I had thought that the council had informed you of the circumstances…? After all, Zexen has allied itself with Holy Harmonia, under the grace of the Most Exalted—"

"—Bishop Sasarai; of course. Pardon me, but I had not been informed of this," Chris interrupted as her headache flared.

"This surprises me," Dios admitted. "The alliance was finalized about a week ago. In addition, the council has requested a contingent of Harmonian soldiers to assist in the defense of the Zexen heartland, and the capital of Vinay del Zexay."

((_This is absurd. This is absolutely absurd!_)) Chris decided. "I… must speak with the council regarding this."

"Silver Maiden," a servant said, clearing his throat.

Turning to look at the man, Chris tried to contain a wave of stinging irritation, and fought to keep a frown from creasing her lips. "Yes?" she said. ((_I should have nipped this in the bud, a long time ago,_)) she thought ruefully.

The man held out a sealed scroll. "I was instructed to deliver this missive from the council… at such a time as…"

"Thank you," Chris said, pulling the scroll from his hands. "Is there anything else?"

"N-no, Silver M—"

"You are dismissed," she said, breaking the council's seal.

Scanning the content, Chris' blood began to boil. _Signed, Councilor Rean._

"I am leaving for Vinay at once," Chris declared as she handed the scroll to Salome. "Adjutant, forgive my rudeness. Please, make yourself at home in Brass Castle while I am absent, and convey my regards to Bishop Sasarai if you opt to leave before I return."

"With all due respect, Silver Maiden," Dios protested, "I was instructed to follow you to the capital, along with my soldiers."

"With all due _respect_," Chris retorted, fueled by anger, "I cannot allow that until I have verified the orders I seem to have failed to receive. Standard procedure, you see."

Dios hesitated for a moment, the nodded. "I see," he said.

Conflicting emotions vied for Chris' heart as she left the meeting room behind, and anger augmented her headache, rendering her mind in a mist of pain.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo paid little attention to his surroundings on his second visit to Vinay. Where before he had stared wide-eyed at the curiosities inherent in the city's design and population, he now walked in silence, and seeking something, he saw almost nothing. His eyes were peeled for soldiers, guardsmen, and anyone else that might stop him on his route towards the Lightfellow Estate. He had inquired about its location a few times, but had otherwise kept to himself and tried to rouse as little suspicion as possible. The journey from the Great Hollow through Zexen territory and into the capital itself had been surprisingly easy once he had taken care to hide his features, even with the ironheads' heightened alertness after the recent battle.

Ducking into an alley, Hugo leaned against the wall to catch his breath. His eyes roamed the skyline, and found the façade of the mansion that had been described to him. Nodding wearily, he slid down against the wall to rest, and wait for nightfall. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out his father's sword, and for the tenth time since leaving the Great Hollow, he unsheathed half a foot of steel to examine the gleaming edge. ((_It's well cared for,_)) he thought again. ((_Mom must have kept it sharp, and oiled it as well,_)) he thought. Holding the edge up to catch the fading light, he sighed. ((_I wonder what kind of man dad was. Would he disapprove of what I'm going to do…? No, it doesn't matter. I won't be using his sword, anyway. Not for this. All that matters is that I learn the truth. Chris…_)) Once more, Hugo heard an insistent voice at the rear of his mind that desperately wanted to hear that Chris had not taken part in what had happened to Karaya. Once more, he did his best to silence it. ((_I have to know the truth,_)) he thought.

The face of the rising moon reflected from the blade of his father's half-sheathed sword. Slowly, the sun retreated, and night began to fall. He glanced down the alley, towards the street, and saw no one. ((_The city is a maze, where people cannot find each other,_)) he mused darkly. Hugo replaced the sword in its scabbard, and put it away in the growing darkness of the alley. Thoughts of Lulu surfaced suddenly, and caught him by surprise. Fighting back the tears, he tried to sleep.

**-Chris-**

Chris did not wait for the doors to open fully before she pushed through into the council's chamber. The councilors watched her with bemused expressions as she set the chair on the table's far end aside, but did not sit down. "I have received the strangest missive," she stated.

Rean cleared his throat, and clasped his hands over the table. "Please, have a seat, milady."

"Thank you, but I prefer to stand," Chris mimicked. To her satisfaction, most of the councilors seated around the table seemed somehow disconcerted by this statement.

"Well…" Rean began. "Would you care to explain the reason for this… impromptu meeting?" His voice was filled with amusement.

((_Do not presume to treat me like a child, you snake,_)) she fumed. "I would," Chris said. "You have allied yourself with Harmonia?" The subtleties of politics had washed from her mind, forced out by anger and blossoming pain. She wasted no time.

"To put it simply, yes," Rean said. "You must realize that there is no point to standing _against_ Holy Harmonia…?"

"As Captain of the Knights, I should have been informed of such plans," Chris said. The leather beneath her gauntlets creaked as she balled her hands into fists, but she denied herself the satisfaction of grasping the chair.

"It's not your place to question the council," Lekshan rasped.

"I have not even begun to question you," Chris said, slapping her hands on the table and leaning against the surface. Lekshan, and several of the other councilors, jumped in their seats. ((_If this headache does not let up soon, I am going to scream! Goddess forbid,_)) she thought.

Rean rose halfway out of his seat, leaning against the table on the opposite end. "Please, Silver Maiden, calm yourself. Have a seat."

"Do not call me that," Chris said coolly. She did not even deign to answer the second request. "Now, explain to me why the council is seeking alliances behind the back of the knights," she demanded. "_Now_ I am questioning you," she added, looking at Lekshan. He seemed to shrink back in his seat, though he barely moved.

"The council did not intend to go behind the backs of the knights," Rean assured her. "If there was a lack of information, there must have been a failure of communication."

Chris shook her head slightly. "I should be apprised of such considerations; my advice should be taken into consideration."

"The knights serve the council," Lekshan muttered.

"And the council serves the people of Zexen, correct? As do the knights. Your apparent lack of trust in the knights is disturbing," Chris said. Standing straight, she let her arms fall to her side, and swept her eyes between the councilors.

"We will be sure to take your concerns into consideration the next time," Rean said.

((_How heartfelt,_)) Chris thought scornfully. "The bishop's adjutant suggested that you had agreed to… even _requested_ the presence of Harmonian forces on Zexen territory? Is this true?" she demanded to know.

"This is true," Rean said.

"Why?" Chris asked.

A moment of silence passed between the councilors as they met the question, but Rean seemed unperturbed. The ornate room seemed small, smaller than Chris had ever seen it before. She knew that her headache, and her temper, were going to cause her problems, but for once, she did not care.

"I don't understand the question, madam," Rean said. "The military protection of Holy Harmonia will be beneficial to the protection of Zexen against the barbarians. Besides, the friendship of Bishop Sasarai will no doubt benefit Zexen in the long run."

((_Harmonia has no friends, only vassals,_)) Chris thought. She tensed and relaxed her muscles, and breathed deeply in an attempt to relax. "Allying ourselves with Harmonia is one thing, but to allow foreign soldiers to guard our land is a preposterous idea. I cannot believe that Harmonia has good intentions in this regard. I strongly urge you to reconsider this decision," she said.

Nodding slowly, Rean smiled. "The council values your advice. Tonight, there is much to do, but we would be glad to discuss the situation at length with you, tomorrow. Is this acceptable?"

Chris suppressed a frown. ((_That seems uncharacteristic. What is he playing at? Is he trying to buy time?_)) she wondered. Even so, she had no reason to refuse, and no authority to press them further on this eve. "It is acceptable," she admitted.

"Excellent. One more thing…" Rean said.

"Yes?" Chris said.

"While you are here, there is a smaller matter that we wish to discuss. Sir Alron, would you please step inside?" he said in a louder voice.

Chris' mind grew dark with the mention of the man's name, and as he stepped into the room with a comfortable smile on his lips, she nearly turned and left the chamber without a word. Instead, she was the first to speak. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked.

Alron's smile grated on her. His face was bruised, discolored around the broken nose. For some reason, he seemed to have refused magical healing. Chris stretched the hand upon which her Water Rune rested, and felt a manner of satisfaction.

"Sir Alron has explained to us what transpired following his actions during the defense against the barbarian raid," Rean said.

((_Naturally,_)) Chris thought acidly. ((_I wonder what nonsense he has regaled them with._)) Sparing little more than a glance at Alron, Chris turned to Rean. "This is a matter for the knights to deal with," she said.

Rean shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, given the circumstances," he said. "Not when it involves the Captain of the Knights. In such situations, the old laws give us the authority to take whatever measures we deem proper."

Furious, Chris fought to restrain herself. Her heart beat wildly as she tried to focus beneath the pain. ((_Is this punishment for trying to stand up to the council?_)) she wondered. "What measures?" she asked.

"I believe some manner of public display would be proper, to set things right," Rean said, and several of the other councilors nodded, grunting their assent. "After all, Sir Alron has fought bravely for Zexen. We would be doing the people a disservice by showing that the Captain of the Knights stands above the rules," he added.

Chris did her best to fight back the tears of frustration. ((_I will not give them that satisfaction. I cannot,_)) she thought. She refused to look at Alron, but she knew that he was smiling. She needed time to think, to consider the circumstances. "Can we discuss this tomorrow, as well?" she wondered. ((_This is madness. Pure madness,_)) was all that she could think.

"That would be acceptable," Rean said.

"I hate to interrupt," Alron said smugly, "But I should add that as much as I pine for the people's satisfaction, and to see this dreadful thing resolved, I am prepared to let it wait until a better time. After all, _who_ knows what _might_ _change_?"

((_Dear Goddess,_)) Chris prayed, ((_Grant me the conviction to resist assaulting him._)) She closed her eyes for a moment, and drew a deep breath.

"That is gracious of you, Sir Alron," Rean said. Several of the councilors agreed enthusiastically. Part of a conversation in hushed, cheerful tones caught Chris' ears:

"It should be something suitably poignant, such as… I hesitate to say a flogging…?"

"A flogging is too brutal, I think."

"It is? I always thought a flogging was a rather minor chastisement… like a few slaps?"

"No, it's quite brutal."

"Oh… Huh."

Chris tuned the madness out of her hearing, and straightened her already tense body. "Would that be all?" she asked.

"Yes, you are dismissed, Silver Maiden," Rean said.

Chris saluted, and left the chamber as quickly as dignity allowed.

((_Something has to break,_)) she thought. ((_Something has to break._)) She kept the dignified façade up until she reached her home. Thinking herself alone, she unleashed her frustration, only to find Jena staring at her. Flushing, Chris gathered her composure with the utmost strain, and blinked away the budding tears.

Jena seemed unperturbed. "Shall I make you some tea?" she wondered.

"Thank you," Chris said, drudging up the stairs towards her bedroom. Though the master bedroom was closer, and more spacious, she had never moved out of her childhood quarters since the death of her parents. The room had been closed ever since, tended to only by her mother's butler, Prion. It was late, and she saw him nowhere, so she assumed that he had gone to bed.

Soon enough, Jena arrived with her tea. She accepted the cup, and quickly dismissed the woman.

Even the tea felt bitter.

**-Hugo-**

The crossed wooden beams protruding from the plaster of the building's wall provided simple footing for Hugo as he climbed, and he found the use of his Wind Rune superfluous for the task. Even in the moonlight, the colorful flowers in the garden below were apparent to him, and he had found their vibrant hues strange in the face of Chris' severe countenance.

Climbing, he reached the only lit window in the building, and peeked in. Chris seemed to be sitting on the bed, huddled up against the pillows beneath the cloth spilling down from the bed's strange canopy. Curiously, the bed seemed to be filled with a variety of totemic cloth animals. ((_They might call us barbarians, but they're no different from us,_)) Hugo thought. The bed was facing away from the window, and she did not seem to be alert. He resisted the urge to leap through the glass window, and carefully changed his position, moving further up; closer. Carefully, he grasped the window-pane and felt it. He glanced worriedly at the street below, but he could neither see nor hear anyone. His blood was pumping, and he took shallow breaths to keep himself on edge.

Slowly, Hugo set the unhooked window ajar, and began to pull it open. He worked patiently, not daring to rouse her. Once the window was open, he reached to his side and felt the weight of Lulu's sheathed knife, reassuring himself. ((_Whatever the outcome, here goes nothing,_)) he thought.

It was not until he was sitting on the windowsill that he registered the sound of sobs. Breath caught, he sat still, and listened intently. Moments passed, and he was sure that she was crying. The sound roused a shredding feeling in his heart, and he was petrified for several seconds before he stepped into the room, having forgotten his thoughts of violence.

"Chris…?" he whispered.

"W-what?" she exclaimed, wiping her tears as she turned to regard him. "Hugo!" she exclaimed, and she stood up, eyes wide with surprise.

Hugo swallowed, and pulled Lulu's knife from its sheath, holding it out against her. "I need to know," he said, choking on unshed tears, "T-tell me… tell me it wasn't you! Karaya! Tell me you didn't do it!"

Those were not the words he had rehearsed. The question in his heart sprung to life in his mouth, and he stood shocked, unable to move while she stammered, taken aback. ((_If it was you, I'll kill you!_)) he screamed inwardly, but the words would not come. He felt more miserable than ever, and he bit his lip, knowing that he would not able to contain the tears if he spoke even one more word.

"I did not…" Chris said, faltering. "I swear; I had nothing to do with what happened in Karaya, or what happened to you. I…" she paused, and sagged against the bed.

"Then why!" Hugo snapped. "You killed him! You killed my _best friend_!"

"I-I am… s-sorry…" Chris mumbled, and her eyes rolled towards her forehead as she slumped onto her back, sliding down the side of the bed. Her eyelids closed, and she lay unmoving.

Hugo took a step towards her. "Chris!" he exclaimed, "Are you alright!" Sheathing his knife, he shook her shoulders, trying to wake her. She would not rouse.

The door opened, admitting the light from the corridor, and a voice. "She's in here…"

A woman with braided brown hair stepped into the room, followed by three men garbed in dark clothes. Seeing Hugo, she went livid. Her mouth worked in silence for a moment, and then she stepped aside and pointed at him. "Don't let him get away!" she exclaimed, and made herself scarce against the wall as the three men rushed into the room.

Hugo reacted without thinking, and activated his Wind Rune. Pale green light surrounded his hand as he summoned a burst of wind. He saw a light to match his own, and two gales met in the middle of the room. Chris' unbraided hair flittered about her head, and Hugo stepped in front of her, pushing her aside.

He drew his knife to match those of the intruders, and parried a swift strike before unleashing another burst of air at them. They scrambled, and the wooden panels of the far wall cracked under the pressure. Hugo spun, clanging his knife against the blades of two of the attackers, while the third sent a wave of air towards him. His allies leapt aside, and the unseen force slammed into Hugo's stomach, sending him hurtling back over the bed.

Leaping to his feet, Hugo snarled. He threw his dagger, and sped its flight with the rune. The dagger bit into one man's shoulder, and he screamed. Reversing the gust of wind, Hugo pulled the dagger from its flesh sheath and grabbed it mid-air, bringing it down to parry another attack.

Leaping from the bed, he threw fists of wind at his assailants. His blood pumped in tune to the strikes, and furniture cracked all around him as the rune-bearer met his attack. They traded blows, and he heard grunts of pain.

"I won't let you touch her!" he shouted in desperation.

The woman stepped up behind him and tried to slam a stool into his head. He ducked, and tripped her. She fell forward, and the stool thudded as it hit the floor and slid several feet. He raised a shield of air to block his opponent's blows as he ran towards where Chris was slumped onto the floor. He ducked, stumbled, and leapt to avoid their attacks, and retorted with bursts of wind. A knife tore across his sleeve, and he rolled across the bed, reaching for Chris.

"Get him!" the woman shouted.

Hugo refused. He grabbed Chris' arm and pulled her onto the bed, parrying a knife thrust and slamming his foot into its wielder's stomach. The intruder doubled over and staggered back, and Hugo slammed a fist of compressed air into his face, knocking him unconscious, and onto his back.

Another man leapt onto the bed and stabbed wildly. In a panic, Hugo raised a shield around Chris and threw her aside, only to watch the knife brush his shoulder. He leaned in to thrust his own weapon—

—and the wind was knocked from his lungs. He was thrown backwards by the blow, and the strange woman's triumphant cry was the last thing he heard as he slammed against the window-pane, broke the glass, and fell through the window. His vision swam, but he struggled for consciousness, and conjured a rising gale beneath his back to break his fall. With a loud thud, and a blinding, numbing pain, he landed in a flower bush and broke its stems. His vision faded, and the image of Chris' face sparked through his mind as he lost consciousness.

He awoke within the minute, only to find that the assailants were gone. So was she.

**-Chris-**

Sensation returned slowly, and her vision was blurred as Chris struggled to gain her bearings. Her arms felt numb, and seemed impossible to move. A throbbing pain lanced through her head, and she had to fight to comprehend where she was. The unfamiliar surroundings foiled her attempts, and she eventually found herself staring at cold, hard stone, in a dimly lit room. She felt sluggish, uncomprehending, and though she knew that something was wrong, she could not tell what it was.

"Looks like it's wearing off. How do you feel, _Silver Maiden_?" a scornful voice said.

Chris tried to think, tried to place the familiar voice, and looked up to see three figures standing before her. As her mind began to clear, she recognized two of them, and thought that she might know the third.

"Looks like she really needed her beauty sleep," Alron joked. He stepped up to her and planted his foot against her shoulder, smirking as he tramped down, pushing her back.

Chris gasped in pain, and tried to move, to escape the pressure. Her arms, which were held aloft over her head, did not budge. He removed his boot with a malicious laugh, and she looked up to see that she had been restrained in manacles hanging from the ceiling of the stone room. ((_This is the dungeon beneath the council hall,_)) she realized.

"W-what…" she gasped, "What is going on?"

"It seems that your services are no longer needed," the unfamiliar woman said. Her hair was gray, and she wore a blue-and-white dress. ((_The fortune teller!_)) Chris recalled. ((_No, she is not a fortune teller, nor a commoner at all, is she…? That dress bears the same designs as Dios' uniform. She is Harmonian!_)) "Who are you?" Chris asked.

"That does not matter," the woman said. Her face was impassive, and unlike the other two, she did not smile, nor did she seem to take any pleasure from the situation. "The Silver Maiden will serve us well, but Chris Lightfellow will be of no further use to us," she explained.

"Whatever this is about, I will never run your errands!" she said hotly. If possible, her headache had grown, and rendered her nearly incapable of structuring her thoughts.

"That will not be a problem," the woman said. "You see, I know quite well how to run your errands for you." She spun the staff she wore, and the jewel at the head gleamed with pale violet light as the woman's features melted, and changed.

Gasping, Chris stared a reflection of herself, garbed in full ceremonial armor. She—the illusion—smiled slightly, and then she twirled the staff once more. The smile faded with the spell, and the woman's doll-like face returned from beneath the veneer. "So you see, you are no longer needed," she said.

Chris breathed raggedly, trying to direct the rage and sorrow she felt into something hurtful, something to scream. She could not think of anything appropriate, nor could she summon the strength to yell. "Jena," she breathed, "This is your doing, is it not…?"

"Right you are," the woman giggled. "It's quite an interesting drug, don't you think? It takes a while to kick in, and depending on the dose, you can delay the effect… It's a very effective way to plan."

Something connected in Chris' mind. (('_I served as Sir Galahad's chamber maid before his tragic death.' That is what Jena said,_)) she realized. "The Captain… He was strangely tired before the end. He fell from his horse during the battle… he… you, you are the one… who… It was you, was it not?" Chris asked icily. Even then, she hoped it was not true.

"Right again! You're rather clever, aren't you? It was difficult to make him trust me, too. Then that idiot Pelize almost ruined Sir Galahad's heroic death with his own foolish charge! Imagine if he had saved the captain… what a waste," she said, shaking her head.

Chris struggled against her bonds, and felt an immense powerlessness. She trembled, and fought the tears. ((_Captain Galahad… Goddess, please do not let it be true…_)) she prayed, knowing that her thoughts were feeble, vain.

The shock brought back a memory.

"_Your father did not begin as a respected knight, you know," Captain Galahad said. "He came as an outsider, and we all doubted him at first. He had to earn it, and he fought hard to do so. He continued to impress me for as long as I knew him… and I was pleased to call him friend. I see much of him in you. His stubborn determination… But also his kindness," he explained, and his lips creased in a smile towards the end._

Chris stared at the floor. "I will kill you." The word chilled her heart, and brought back a tremendous guilt as she recalled Hugo, and realized that his visit to her manor had not been a dream. ((_Did he understand me? How much did he hear? Why am I not dead? Is he alright?_)) she wondered.

Jena faltered for a moment, but laughed. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. I'm not doing this to spite you; I just need to work for a living, you know?"

((_That is a feeble excuse,_)) she thought. "For the council?" she whispered.

"Their coin is good," Jena said, shrugging.

"What about the boy? What did you do to Hugo?" she demanded to know.

Jena shrugged. "I think he might've survived the fall. I'm not sure; I didn't see his body," she said.

((_So, he might be alive? Goddess, I hope that is true,_)) Chris thought. "If you release me, I might decide to be lenient with you," she said wearily, but could not resist chuckling at the irony of her own words.

"Shut up!" Alron shouted, and delivered a back-handed slap across her face. His anger turned to satisfaction after a moment, and he snorted. "I've always wanted to hit that prissy little princess," he muttered. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he lifted her half a foot off of the ground, and spit in her face.

Chris felt his warm spit flow down her cheek, but the pain in her scalp was hidden underneath her headache. Aflame with rage, she struggled against her bonds, flailing her legs to kick at his feet. He leapt back, and let her go.

"Give me some time alone with her. I've got a lot of frustration to take out," he said.

"Very well," the Harmonian said. "But not now. Your presence is required elsewhere. You will have your chance later."

Alron grunted. "Well, let's get it over with, then." He smiled at Chris as they turned to leave. "Don't worry, I'll be back before you miss me," he assured her.

Chris breathed raggedly. "I highly doubt you shall live to be that old," she said.

With a snarl, he left the prison cell.

Collapsing, Chris closed her eyes as she hung from the manacles, and fought to stop the tears.

**-Hugo-**

Stumbling through Vinay, Hugo had kept his eyes open against hope, searching for a clue to Chris' location. He had found nothing. When dawn came, he began to hear murmurs of a pronouncement, a public speech of some manner, to be held in the square beneath the council hall. He had followed the stream of people as they gathered at the heart of the city, and he had begun to hear the words 'Silver Maiden' over and over. Inquiring cautiously, he had been told that the Silver Maiden—Chris—was to make a pronouncement.

Shocked, Hugo had remained, and waited. When Chris stepped out onto the council hall's balcony, flanked by a knight clad in ceremonious cloth, he had been both relieved and perplexed.

"People of Zexen!" she proclaimed, "Thank you for listening to me."

The crowd cheered her name around Hugo, and parents lifted their children onto their shoulders to allow them a glimpse of the woman on the balcony. Hugo struggled to see, and managed to find a half-decent spot near a wall. He shouted her name, but his voice was simply added to the crowd's, and she did not notice him. Instead, he tried to worm his way into a position where she might spot him, so that she would recognize him. On an impulse, he shouted his own name, which incited no more response than a few odd looks from the people around him.

"The barbarians have gone too far," Chris shouted.

Hugo's blood froze, and he listened.

"Their craven attack during the truce negotiations was an act of cowardice, not to mention a brutal declaration of war!" she continued. "We have been merciful, and patient, and we have embraced the desire for peace, even as we trusted them. However…! The barbarians chose to throw our noble intentions in our faces, and stab us in the back." She paused for a moment to wait for the outraged cries of the crowd to die down.

((_I can't believe my ears! What's she saying?_)) Hugo wondered.

"The barbarians understand only the language of steel! Before there can be peace, the barbarians must be brought to heel, brought onto their knees! It is time that Zexen dealt with its ancient enemies once and for all. Only when the barbarians are subjugated can there be peace between Zexen and the clans of the Grasslands!"

The crowd cheered enthusiastically. One man near Hugo threw his arms into the air and seemed near tears for fanaticism.

((_These aren't your words, Chris… No, it can't be. Something's wrong. She was taken away, so why would she be here, now? Someone's…_)) He froze, gasping. ((_Could it be another illusion!_)) he wondered.

"It's not her…" he murmured. He noticed that the blonde man standing next to him raised an eyebrow, and watched him curiously. ((_No, it seems too unreal. But still, this is too strange!_)) he decided.

"To this end," Chris said, "We require the assistance of Zexen's mightiest and sternest defenders. You have been without a Vice-Captain for some time. It is time that this post was filled… and for this purpose, I have chosen… Sir Alron, the hero of the Betrayal at Amur!"

The knight next to Chris stepped up and received the accolade of the people. He drew his sword, and raised it to the sky as she bowed his head proudly. Kneeling, he presented his sword to Chris, and the latter began to perform some sort of ritual.

"It's not Chris," Hugo mumbled. He was decided. ((_It's definitely not her. I can feel it. I can see it. She doesn't seem right; like that man I fought in Brass Castle,_)) he thought.

"You're quite astute," the man next to him said.

"Huh?" Hugo exclaimed.

The blonde man chuckled, and slung a striped green scarf around his shoulders. "I'm Nash," he said, holding out his hand.

Hugo gripped the leather glove and frowned. "Uh, I'm Hugo," he said. "I don't really have time to talk—"

"But you've got time for Chris, right?"

"What?" Hugo blurted out.

"Sure you do. So you figured it out, huh?" Nash wondered.

((_Does he know? How could he?_)) Hugo wondered. Tensing nervously, Hugo blocked out the cheering of the crowd and concentrated on the man. Though fine, his clothes belonged to a traveler, and aside from his confident behavior, there was nothing to set him apart from other wanderers. "Who are you?" he wondered.

"Eh, let's just say I'm working for a man with a funny hat, okay?"

"That makes no sense," Hugo said.

"You're probably right," he admitted. "Look," he said, pushing Hugo away from the crowd. Though apprehensive, Hugo made no attempt to resist. "You want to find the _real_ Silver Maiden, right? We both know the one up there's a fake, though I have to say that you seem pretty damn clever to have figured it out on your own. My congratulations."

"So what?" Hugo wondered, frowning. He kept glancing towards the balcony, where the illusion received the people's praise.

"So, I also happen to know that she's being held somewhere in the council hall," he said.

"Then I'm going to get her out," Hugo decided. ((_I still don't know the truth, but she denied it. She said it wasn't her. I don't know if I can trust her, but… I want to trust her. I have to hear the full story,_)) he told himself. Somewhere deep down, he felt that there was another reason that he could not voice, but he ignored that thought.

"Slow down, slow down," Nash urged him. "You know, I know a thing or two about getting into places, and precisely as many about getting out of places. How about we cooperate? We can share the thunder, and we'll both come off looking like white knights. What do you say?"

"I don't care about thunder or white knights. I just want to get Chris out of there," Hugo protested.

"Sure, whatever works for you," Nash said with a shrug. "So, do we have a deal?" he asked, reaching out his hand.

Hugo stared at him. It felt all too sudden, but the thought of being able to find and free Chris filled him with hope, and something else. "How do I know I can trust you?" he wondered.

"You don't," Nash said. "But seriously; don't you think it's worth the risk?"

Hugo hesitated for a moment, and then grasped Nash's hand. Shaking it firmly, he nodded.

"We have a deal," he said.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I'm sorry if this seems bleak. Before there can be light, there must first be darkness… and before the first dawn, there was night. If you stay with me, I promise that I will do my best to give you a satisfying resolution to the story. The dawn is coming, but noon is still quite a ways off. To those of you who have stayed with me even this long; _I am honored._ I have more to share with you, if you are willing. 

Please review, or send me a private message, if you have thoughts you would like to share. I would love to hear from you.

**Next Chapter: **There's no need to steal anyone's thunder when Hugo breaks into the council hall, looking for Chris. In fact, even Nash's judgment proves wrong when it turns out that there is in fact enough thunder for _three_. An unexpected ally comes to the assistance of the unlikely duo, and a plan comes together.

Emotion, action, swordplay, and a race against time, with a twist! See you next time, in Blazing Waves, Burning Rain!


	11. Friend or Foe

_Saint in silver, golden sun_

_Faint in daylight, unicorns stir_

_Bright come twilight, white mares run_

_Night reveals the sight of Her_

— "Moon's Majesty," verse five, from the Zexen Book of Hymns

**-Hugo-**

Sticks of colorful incense adorned the surface of the table in the middle of the floor, each one lit with a steady flame that spread their scent throughout the room. Cypress, myrrh, juniper and sage mixed with a wealth of exotic and heady fragrances, combining in a stark and jarring scent that dazed the mind and singed the nostrils. Hugo drew short breaths through his mouth, and wrinkled his nose as the aged Rune Sage slapped a brass-bound wooden box onto the tabletop. He leaned into his seat and studied Hugo's outstretched left hand. With a grunt, he narrowed his eyes and peered at Hugo's far hand.

"Show me the other one," he drawled. He tensed and relaxed; stretching languidly. Accustomed to numbing scent of the incense, he moved in a haze, as though the world had slowed to a crawl around him.

Hugo held out his right hand, and drew back the sleeve. He frowned slightly. "Why?"

The old man muttered something under his breath as he reached out and turned Hugo's wrist upside down, revealing the emerald crest on the back of his hand. "A Wind Rune," he murmured.

Hugo stared at the Rune Sage. His clean-shaven hatchet face was drawn and weary, and the man's eyes faltered. ((_Does this geezer even have the ability?_)) Hugo wondered. He turned his eyes on Nash, who stood leaned against the dark wooden panels of the wall. His arms were folded over his chest, his boots slung one over the other, and his lips were curved in a smile that Hugo could not interpret. Nash shrugged his shoulders, and nodded at the Rune Sage. ((_I've got no choice,_)) Hugo thought.

The old man cleared his throat, and burst into a fit of hacking coughs. "Ever had two runes before?" he asked.

"No," Hugo said.

"For a greenhorn like you, I'd recommend against it," he said. He shook his head as if to convince himself, and produced a corked bottle from his coat pocket. Tearing the cork from the bottle with his teeth, he spat it onto the floor and took a hearty swig of the bottle's contents.

Hugo looked pointedly at Nash. ((_This oaf better be good,_)) he decided.

Nash grinned, and winked. The gesture might have been meant to be reassuring, but Hugo found no comfort in it. He sighed, and shook his head. Few Zexen Rune Sages would serve a Grasslander, much less one looking to affix a Fire Rune. Finding one willing to do the job had taken quite a bit of effort on Nash's part, and as much as Hugo sweated at the notion of allowing the drunken old man to touch him, he was loathe to pass up the opportunity to have the rune affixed. He shook his head, and stared at the Rune Sage. Even beneath the mist of incense, the man reeked of rum, the kind of cheap local draft that sailors dulled their senses with.

((_Guess it won't hurt to ask,_)) Hugo thought. "Why's that?"

The Rune Sage's eyes flared, and he flinched momentarily, bending down to cough as he shook his head. "You don't know much about runes, do you, lad? Look, don't go 'round trying to activate the runes at the same time. Don't try to combine them or anything. In fact, don't be experimenting in this whole hornet's nest one way or the other. It's bad practice, even for a rune-bearer far older than you."

"I shouldn't use them at once?" Hugo asked. He leaned against the tabletop, suddenly curious.

"Bloody well right you shouldn't!" the man slurred. "There's no telling what might happen. Huge explosions or bursts of colors or anything you could think of. I once knew a man had himself killed experimenting with that sort o' thing. He came out looking all purple and pale, and the moment he stepped out into the light, he burst into flame! Dead as stone in minutes, but not 'fore he screamed his lungs out. What was left of 'em, anyways."

As much as he doubted the truth of the man's claim, Hugo could not help but shudder at the image. He nodded slowly. "Sure, I won't experiment with it. Just… get on with it."

"Right, right…" the man muttered, polishing the brass-bound wooden box with his fingers. The lid separated with a click as he opened it, and he reached into the small container to dig out several instruments which he proceeded to arrange one by one upon the table. A slender brush, tooled from birch, with fine hairs attached to the end. Three small vials of glass, stained by their murky contents. Lastly, a scalpel with a gleaming iron blade.

Hugo recoiled in his seat, caressing the back of his unmarked hand as if trying to warm himself of the sudden chilling feeling he felt. ((_Oh, spirits, I hope he's only as drunk as he seems—it could be worse,_)) he thought.

"The rune," the old man rasped.

Hugo reached into the satchel by the chair's back leg and rummaged through its contents, pulling out the Fire Rune. It gleamed crimson in the dim room, its light waxing and waning as he placed it upon the table, right next to the instruments.

The Rune Sage leaned in over the table and squinted, stroking the Fire Rune's translucent shell with his finger, rolling it over the wooden surface like a marble. Even as the orb revolved on the table, the rune's image remained steady and upright in Hugo's eyes; a stylized flame in bright red with rounded edges. "Exquisite," the old man said. His head drew closer, and his stinging breath caused Hugo to draw back in his seat. "The orb… made of rune crystals from the Tinto mines, isn't it? Yes, I recognize the refractions… Ah… Nearly flawless. Where did a scoundrel like you get this?"

Hugo frowned, but ignored the insult. "I found it in a chest abandoned in the forest," he said sarcastically.

The Rune Sage grunted. "Yes… Folks leave all sorts of things behind, don't they? Now… This might sting a wee bit…"

Hugo rolled his neck and steeled himself. Nash smirked at him.

The pain was excruciating, but even then, it was tolerable.

After all, it was fleeting, and the Fire Rune integral to their plan.

**-Sarah-**

Sarah still wore the Silver Maiden's guise as she stepped into the dungeon's guard room, smoothing the skirts beneath the illusion. The walls were dressed with iron sconces, rusted beneath rivulets of water that trickled from the cold stones, each one holding a torch that lit the room in effulgent light and dancing shadows. The flames provided some warmth. A table of dark, unpolished wood had been displaced from the middle of the floor at a haphazard angle, and around it were arrayed half a dozen rickety chairs. A single die of polished white bone rested on the table's surface, forgotten. She stared at it for a moment before walking over to the side door and rapping the butt of her stave against its surface.

The rhythmic sound of dulled grunts from the other side faded, and a few moments passed while she heard footsteps. She walked over to the table, but opted to remain standing.

The door opened, and Alron stepped into the room. Wild-eyed and with hair that looked like it had been tossed by a strong wind, he strode towards the table and tossed the thick leather whip in his hand onto the table, rattling the die and causing it to roll off of the table and onto the floor. Sarah's eyes turned to it as it stopped upon the floor. ((_One,_)) she noted.

"I guess I must've been too lenient with the whip; you look no worse for wear," he chuckled. His hand clasped the hilt of his sword, and his fingers caressed the pommel lovingly.

Sarah was not amused. For that matter, she remained unacquainted with her disguise, and with the things that came with it. People would smile, bow, and scrape. They would stare, too, and she was unaccustomed to drawing so much unwanted attention.

"I see that you are having fun. I hope I need not remind you not to put any cracks in our plans, Alron." ((_'The slightest crack could shatter Crystal Valley,' as the saying goes. It is a good lesson to heed, though exaggerated and metaphoric at best,_)) she decided.

Alron tensed, and nodded. "Of course, my lady. I won't fail you; I'm just satisfying myself." He snorted, and glanced at the closed door through which he had entered. There was silence, now, though the door looked sturdy enough to keep most sound out. "She's stubborn; I'll give her that. I'll make her beg yet, though. I'm looking forward to that."

"You are certainly zealous in your… dedication to our efforts," she said calmly. ((_He disgusts me. It is a terrible thing that we must associate with such monsters in order to reach Master Luc's goal,_)) she thought.

Alron turned to regard her, and shrugged. The leer on his face faded to a frown as he spoke. "It's because of knights like her that we've been coddling the barbarians. Her and that fool Galahad. People like that make my blood boil. I don't like what the council did to them, but they deserved it. They should have learned their lesson at Danay."

Sarah tapped her stave against the floor and let her gaze sweep across the room as he spoke, ignoring his patriotic drivel. When he finished, she fixed her eyes on him. "The plan has changed. I am leaving for the front tonight."

"What about me?" Alron wondered. There was suspicion in his voice.

Sarah shook her head. "You will remain, for now. I am afraid that there will be no trumpets and drums as we had planned for our… glorious march. Nevertheless, you will be sent for soon. After all, you will succeed me as Captain of the Knights." She bent her lips in a tight smile, but it never reached her eyes. She could see disappointment in his features. ((_Disappointment, and irritation_,)) she thought.

"Very well," he said. "What about the safeguard?"

"It is in place. I have already sowed the seed in the knighthood."

He nodded.

"Before I leave, I will give you a reward of sorts," Sarah said.

Alron's face lit up. It seemed all too much like a child's countenance, then. "A reward?"

Sarah stuck her hand into the shirt pocket beneath the blue tabard—she had to rummage around, since her own clothes were veiled by the illusion—and produced a slight orb that glowed in hues of green and gray. She held it out, and he greedily took it from her hand, holding it up to stare at the rune within. His eyes gleamed as they reflected the orb's swirling colors, and his breath caught as he grinned.

"What is it?" he said in a near-whisper.

"It will explain itself once you try it. It will take some getting used to, but you will have plenty of opportunity to practice on the Silver Maiden," she said coolly. "In battle, you will find it quite useful, I am sure."

"I look forward to it, my lady," he breathed. His face glowed with eagerness as he held his hand out towards her, cupping the rune. For a moment, Sarah frowned, and tried to understand the gesture. ((_Is he refusing it?_)) she wondered. Then it struck her. ((_Of course; he needs to have it affixed before he can use it,_)) she realized, feeling a bit silly.

The emotion never reached her features. She stepped forward, and gingerly reached into his palm to grasp the rune without touching his hand. Holding it up, she grasped the cloth around wrist and turned his hand, displaying the back. She pressed the rune's fragile shell against his skin, and concentrated.

The rune seemed to recoil, withdrawing from his skin.

"What…?" Sarah mumbled.

Alron's expression faded to surprise—and something else—as his hand left the hilt of his sword and grasped the rune. "Try again."

This time, it did not resist. The rune flared up in greenish gray light that spilled over their hands as the shell of the orb broke, and its shards embedded themselves in his skin, merging with his flesh.

Alron's gaunt face reflected green light as he stared at the rune. His eyes were wide, and his breath hitched as he watched the emblem embed itself to the back of his hand. A broad smile spread on his lips as the initial discomfort settled.

The rune was affixed.

**-Chris-**

Chris drew shallow, silent breaths as she pressed herself against the thick wooden door. The sharp sting of bruises on her face, shoulders, back and limbs caused her body to ache, but where the throbbing pain subdued her body, it fuelled her rage. And her rage fuelled her mind, allowing her to remain alert. Like a stream of rainwater, the anger threatened to overflow, and she had to grit her teeth to keep from voicing her building frustration in a fit of screams. She stretched against the shackles that bound her ankles and wrists and chafed her joints, leaning her left arm against the coarse grain of the door. Alron never left her alone for long, but she had spent her few short periods of undisturbed rest on loosening the chains, and her work had yielded results a few hours ago, when she managed to liberate her left arm. The long shackles that held her legs had proven far too sturdy to budge, so far. Trapped though she was, her efforts had given her a little freedom. Enough to listen in.

Hugging the wooden barrier, she could hear bits and pieces of Alron's conversation with the unknown woman, and although most of it had proven to be incomprehensible, it contained bits and pieces of useful information ((_What does she mean to say about the knighthood? It is clear that they intend to take control of the knights, but… what is this 'safeguard' they refer to?_)) Her thoughts raced. ((_We should have learned our lesson, should we now? What arrogance! What insolence!_)) The stinging lashes across her back throbbed with vibrant pain, and she seethed with anger as she drew from the sensations. Thoughts of the vengeance she would exact upon Alron gave some comfort, and provided focus—even if she would never do such things. Compared to these sources of hurt, her headache seemed harmless company; a familiar sensation that reminded her of who she was. ((_Goddess, I fear for what I might do if I cannot control my anger,_)) she despaired.

The muffled sound of delighted laughter from across the door startled her, and she tensed—if it were possible to become more rigid—and listened. Sudden footsteps from the other side of the door startled her. She skittered back across the cold stones of the fetid cell, and quickly grasped the links of the loose chain hanging down from the ceiling as the door opened. Alron's angular face settled into a smile as he entered, cracking his whip. Growling, she railed against her shackles, tossing back and forth in a show of needless defiance. A show it was—a façade—but the fury was true, and strong. Her lashes throbbed with pain, and a flare was building within her. A flare she had thought long mastered.

"Ready to please, yet?" Alron asked. His smile was patronizing, and infuriating.

Chris bit her teeth together to show a rictus grin. Her pride forbade her to beg, but even without it, her rage would not have allowed it. "Never," she growled. ((_Goddess, mother of the golden moon, lend me a fraction of your strength, to help me protect my dignity,_)) she prayed.

Alron chuckled. He raised the whip, slick with her blood, and cracked it in the air. She flinched. "Let's try this again, then, traitor," he said.

The pain was excruciating, but even then, it was tolerable. She gritted her teeth, and grunted with each lash. ((_Traitor? I will show you how wrong you are,_)) she promised. She held her grim smile.

With the Goddess' favor, all sorrows were fleeting.

**-Hugo-**

The Council Hall's interior was opulent, an expansive chamber with walls lined with ostentatious paintings and tapestries and doorways flanked by extravagant ornaments; vases, statues, and hollow suits of armor. Together, the decorations obscured the greater part of the polished wooden planks that framed the room, and Hugo stood astounded for a time, staring wide-eyed at the marvels as he entered in Nash's wake. ((_They've even taken flowers and put them in urns! The ironheads are insane,_)) he thought.

Nash glanced back and smirked. "Don't look so lost," he whispered. "You're the associate of a world-renowned merchant, remember?" He turned his head back to the room and leveled a look of practiced disdain on its contents.

Hugo nodded to himself as he tore his eyes from the decorations. He shifted his grip on the burlap sacks he carried in either hand, and shrugged to comfort his shoulders. The sacks' contents clinked with the motion, glass striking glass. One day had passed while they made their preparations, and another night of fitful sleep. He had not rested easy, his thoughts scattered as he tried not to focus on what his mind sought. Who. ((_Nash doesn't seem to be in a hurry, but I get the feeling that he's nervous, too. Is she even alive?_)) He quickly banished the dark thought.

Footsteps echoed through the grand chamber as a man in orange livery descended the steps of the twisting staircase, sliding his hand across the intricately carved features of the polished railing. "Can I help you, sir?"

Nash swaggered as he strode up to the man, planting his thumbs beneath his belt and drawing himself up, elbows protruding. "Yes, indeed! Tell Rean Fetterswin that Jarve Demis is here to see him." His words were somewhat slurred, spoken in an accent that Hugo had never heard, and a speech pattern that made a mockery of his true voice.

"Sir—"

Nash gestured pompously. "Make it quick, good man! I haven't all day, to be quite frank."

"Sir," the servant cut in. "I'm afraid the council is in session at this time. The Head Councilor is not available. Did you have an appoint—"

"Not available!" Nash—Jarve—shouted. "This is preposterous; indeed villainous and vile!" He wagged a finger at the man, fuming. "I'll have you know, good man, that I have an appointment for this precise day, and this precise hour! Today _is _the fifth of Moon's Dawn, is it not?"

"It is, sir, but—"

"And did I not hear the tenth bell mere moments ago?"

"That's right, sir. _However_—" the frustrated administrator began.

Nash snorted, and slapped his hands together violently, causing the man to recoil against the stairs. "Then there is no mistake on _my_ part. Tell Rean Fetterswin that Jarve Demis has an appointment with him for this precise moment!"

The servant shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do that. I have been told of no appointment for tenth bell today…"

"Well! This is an insult, _and_ an outrage. I cannot imagine that Kanakan and Zexen will ever be quite as close after _this_ grievous insult!" Nash railed. His cheeks flared with emotion—feigned, to be sure, but convincing nonetheless—as he advanced on the administrator.

((_He's a great actor; almost too compelling. He's probably been acting with me, too. I need to be careful,_)) Hugo decided. Feeling the strain on his arms, he relaxed his grip and lowered the sacks onto the floor.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir…"

Nash shook his head, and sighed. "There's naught to be done, is there? Well, will you at least let my manservant"—he gestured at Hugo—"Unload some of our cargo in your storehouses in the meanwhile?"

"I'm not supposed to—"

Planting his fists on his hips, Nash drew himself up further and fixed the man with a withering glare. "Good man, I believe I shall be forced to lodge a formal complaint with your superior over this! What's your name?"

"Halswin, sir, but—"

"But?" Nash quirked his eyebrows.

"But, on second thought, sir, it shouldn't be a problem. Your, uh, manservant is free to unload. It's… it's down the hall, third door on the left past the intersection. The room is marked with a bronze plaque above the doorway."

Nash turned and nodded at Hugo, flashing a brief smile. Hugo returned the nod but not the smile, and lifted the burlap sacks from their restive position on the floor. Drawing a deep breath, he walked into the side corridor.

Past the intersection, and saw the third door on the left. Glancing at the full glass bottles packed tight in the sacks, he forced a smile, and walked right past the door.

**-Borus-**

Ducking beneath the tent flap, Borus left the din of the lively camp behind him and stepped into the captain's voluminous pavilion. Chris was seated in a folding chair at the center of the stamped grass floor, hands clasping the ends of the chair's arms. The sun pressed against the cloth, rendering the insides in a dull light that cast scarce shadows.

Borus saluted, gauntleted fist pressed close to his heart in a rigid pose. He bowed, and tried to calm his beating heart as he met the captain's eyes. Calm as ever, even before an engagement, he was nonetheless surprised to find her smiling broadly. "Milady," he greeted her. ((_Radiant as the sun, with your rare smiles,_)) he thought, but kept the state of his aching heart unvoiced.

"Sir Borus. Is something on your mind?" she wondered.

"Yes, milady, there is. I need to tell you something important." He could not still his heart, and he found his hands moist with sweat that he could not blame on exertion. ((_I have to tell her; she'll never respect me unless I tell her the truth now,_)) he assured himself. The decision had already been made, but he found it difficult not to back down now that he stood staring at her big violet eyes. Such beautiful eyes. ((_What if she ends up hating me? No, I cannot even think about it. I simply have to tell her the truth, and that is that. No matter the…_)) He could not finish the thought, tramping his boot into the grassy dirt as if to stamp it out.

"Very well, Sir Borus. Would you like some tea?" Her expression did not change, but if anything, Borus thought that he could read curiousness in her beautiful features.

"Thank you," he said with a small nod.

Chris turned her head. "Dindee? Pour two cups of that jasmine tea for us, would you?"

With a start, Borus turned to see motion in the shadows of the corner—preoccupied with Chris, he had not noticed the tent's third inhabitant. The sound of liquid pouring into porcelain rang out, and a young girl strode from the shadows with a cup in each hand. She wore a simple woolen dress, smudged and worn, and though her black hair was washed and arranged in two thick braids, her face was dirty. Sullen and silent as she proffered the cups, the expression on her face was defiant, and perhaps a bit nervous. Borus accepted the unadorned porcelain cup with a slight nod of his head. "Thank you."

Chris watched the girl with equal parts fascination and warmth. "I seem to be losing squires and servants right and left these days," she said as she reached out to caress the girl's cheek—she flinched, but did not recoil from the touch. "I shall hold onto this one." She waved dismissively, and the girl scurried back into the dark corner on stubby legs.

Borus smiled slightly, and nodded. His smile died as he looked into Chris' eyes. "Milady… I… I have lied to you. And I have done something you will not approve of," he whispered. There. He was past the point of no return, now. ((_The truth shall set me free… Isn't that what they say?_)) he mused.

Joy melted from Chris' face, to be replaced with suspicion, and Borus' heart sank with the change. "What have you done, Sir Borus?" she demanded.

"I lied to you… about Karaya. I _did_ participate in that bloodbath. That is, I was there, and… and I fought alongside Sir Alron. We… killed them all."

She watched him impassively, seeming content to hold her tongue while waiting for him to elaborate. Her eyes stabbed his heart, and he fought to liberate the words from his throat.

"Please understand, milady; I was overcome with anger… I couldn't control myself, I t-tried t-to—"

"Enough, Sir Borus," she said firmly, rising from her seat.

"Milady…" he whispered. He felt as though withering under her gaze, and the desire to weep was close at hand as she scrutinized him.

He was shocked to see her smile, suddenly. "Fear not, Sir Borus. I do not loathe you," she said with a small laugh. "You did what you had to do; what any of us would have done."

"B-but, milady…!" ((_Why isn't she furious? She was livid with Alron!_)) he thought.

She shook her head. "You should not feel guilt for what you have done. Certainly, it was not our brightest moment, but you must remember that it is the duty of the knights to do whatever it takes to protect the people of Zexen. You fought bravely, and with great zeal to reach that end, did you not?"

"Y-yes, but I… when the anger took me, I killed women and children! I cannot forgive myself for this, even if…" ((_Even if you can,_)) he finished in his mind. He dared not utter those words.

"Sir Borus," Chris said, shaking her head. "No knight could match your loyalty, your devotion. To lose your conviction to this… minor stumble… would be tragic, and a great loss to the people of Zexen, not least."

Within his gauntlets, Borus' fingers pressed furiously against the leather coating. "Milady, do you truly believe that?" ((_She named Alron her Vice-Captain… Does this mean that she approves of what we did? After her fury with Alron, at Brass Castle?_)) he wondered. Singing jealousy crept into his mind as he considered it; whispers that had given him little rest since Alron was named Vice-Captain. It should have been him.

"I do, Sir Borus," she said firmly, losing her smile. This time, it strengthened him. "Please, try to put this behind you. I think no less of you for this. Truly. I will need your might soon enough, and I cannot have my knights distracted by the past when we need to conquer the present. Do you understand?"

"Yes, milady!" he exclaimed, trying to fight down the growing feeling of pride, to moderate his voice and expression. "I-I had to tell you before we reached Iksay, in case… well, I felt I had to tell you."

"I understand. Now, you have more important tasks to tend to. You are dismissed, Sir Borus," she said with a smile.

"Yes, milady!"

He drank in the sight of her before he swiveled and walked away. Ducking under the tent flap, he emerged to the many sounds and scents of a camp in motion, baking beneath the high noon sun. Its light seemed to wash away his fears and worries, and he walked blissfully through the camp.

((_She forgave me. Oh, sweet, merciful Goddess! My beautiful angel,_)) he exulted.

**-Sarah-**

"What a fool," Sarah spat. She sprang from the chair the moment he left, stretching her back and shivering. "Thank the True Runes for idiots. Our task would be all the more difficult without them." The adoration evident in the knight's eyes was all too blatant, and it made her uncomfortable. ((_I wonder how she dealt with this. Surely she realizes. How would he react, were he to find out the true fate of his dear captain? Too cruel, by far,_)) she thought.

She felt the shadows twist and curl behind her back, and Dindrane yelped with fear as Yuber stepped from the darkness. He walked up to her side and looked down at her. Tilting her head to the side, Sarah placed her hand on the chair's arm and met his eyes. "You have returned," she noted.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he grinned. "The barbarians are marching."

"And Albert's prediction was correct?"

"Of course," Yuber said, snorting.

"Iksay, then. We shall be fashionably late. Good. I shall be happy once I can shed this despicable skin. It has been an altogether unpleasant experience."

Yuber growled. "We've all had to do things we didn't like."

Sarah sighed, and smirked as she regarded him. His eyes could not be found. "It truly rankles you that you had to leave those lizards alive."

"It's not my style to leave survivors. A necessary sacrifice, but an unpleasant one."

"Of course. We must all make sacrifices for him."

Yuber snorted.

((_For you, Luc, I will cooperate with these vile demons. Only for you,_)) she promised.

**-Hugo-**

Three soldiers stood lounged near the doorway, standing guard with banded mail strapped tight to their orange tabards and spears leaning against the stone tiles. Conversing in low voices, their eyes turned to Hugo when he rounded the corner and approached them.

"Halt," one soldier said, stepping forward. "Are you lost? What's your business in the dungeons?" He frowned, and his face was marked by suspicion.

Hugo smiled, trying to make the gesture seem at once casual and genuine. He held up the sack in his right hand. "Councilor Rean's aide told me to deliver this Kanakan brandy to the storehouses in the dungeon. Seems like he felt more confident keeping the bottles there," he said, slurring his words. He knew no accents to emulate, but even gibberish would have greater effect than Karayan. Glass bottles clinked as he stretched and stirred the burlap sacks.

The guardsmen's eyes shot up as they regarded each other in silence. The leading soldier pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "Kanakan brandy, eh…? Is that so?"

"It is," Hugo said with a nod. "We got here just last night, with the high tide."

"Really? You from that Kooluk vessel moored by Deadsilver Pier?"

"That's right," Hugo said. ((_Nash has done his research well,_)) he thought. The soldiers clustered around him, inspecting his features and possessions with equal interest. The clothes he wore were foreign, taken from Nash's considerable stock, and with some luck, he would pass for an outlander. Still, he was no actor.

"So you're from Kooluk?" the soldier wondered.

"Doesn't look Kooluk to me…" one of his comrades muttered, leaning on his spear. The third man shook his head slowly.

"Island Nations," Hugo said. He broadened his smile nervously, but caught himself and relaxed the expression. ((_Casual, Nash said. Not too friendly, not too severe,_)) he thought.

They were silent for a few seconds, watching him. He felt sweat building on his brow, but remained still, smiling. He fought the need to elaborate. ((_Don't volunteer too much information…_)) he reminded himself.

"Obel?" one of the men asked.

"No. Tilbara Island."

"Never heard of it," the guard said. His comrades grunted in agreement.

Hugo laughed. "Doesn't surprise me; not even my grandmother remembers the island, and she lives there! The crabs around there make it all worthwhile, though." ((_Oh, spirits, please don't ask me about seamanship…_)) he prayed.

The guardsmen chuckled. "Tell me about it," the man said. "If anyone around here's heard of Muanay, they probably saw the name in a tax report."

"You sure the tax men know how to find Muanay, Ghanis?" one of the others joked.

Ghanis laughed. "You might be right."

Hugo leaned down to set the left-hand sack down on the stone tiles, rousing a clatter of glass. Reaching into the right sack, he felt along the bottlenecks for the strip of cloth that set the one flask apart. Pulling it out, he presented it to the guards. "It isn't fair for the stiff-necks to keep it all to themselves, now is it?" he said with a wink.

"Damn true," the soldier said, snagging the bottle. The three of them eyed it covetously for a moment before the first man waved him along. "You'd better get going. Wouldn't want you to be late on our account."

"Thanks, friends," Hugo grinned.

Hoisting the sacks, Hugo drew a lungful of air and walked through the doorway and descended the widdershins spiraling stairs. The stone steps were damp with moisture, and the darkness loomed beneath, hinting at the presence of meager light. He fought the need to exhale until he could no longer hear the soldiers behind him.

He was inside.

**-Borus-**

Noon had come, bringing fire to the sky, and passed, leaving a wake of orange flames that bled into the clouds above the farming village of Iksay. The very heavens burned with seething emotion as smoke rose from the blazing farmlands, a gray fog that crept into the sky's bright colors, seeking justice from the clouds. Screams filled the air, terrifying shouts of wrath and piercing shrieks of fear that gave voice to the chaos enveloping the torched village. Beneath it surged the crackle of flames, and the ring of steel on steel. The chorus of war.

Bloodstained sword held aloft, Borus galloped back towards the forward pickets, ducking his head low as arrows swooped through the air at either side. His heart pounded like a drum. ((_Filthy barbarians!_)) he cursed, scowling.

Rushing up towards him as he raced, he saw Chris astride a restless dun mare, surrounded by Salome and a handful chosen knights, while a contingent of soldiers marched past them towards the burning village. They parted like a wave as he passed, giving him wide berth. As he reined his horse in near the captain, she met his eyes.

"Milady!" he shouted, catching his breath. "The barbarians have torched the fields and set most of the houses ablaze. The fire is spreading, but they haven't—"

She raised a gauntleted hand to silence him. "We shall show these barbarians the price of Zexen blood. Advance into the village and rout the enemy."

Salome leaned in to whisper something. His expression changed to surprise, but he hid his emotions well. Chris shook her head, and silenced him.

((_Advance? But it's a trap!_)) he thought. "But, milady…!"

"That is a direct order, Sir Borus."

Borus met Salome's eyes, but the older man was silent, sitting stiff in his saddle and fiddling with the reins in a nervous manner. Borus stared, but held his tongue. ((_Salome will set her straight, whatever she is thinking._)) Fist to heart, he saluted. "As you say, milady." His warhorse snorted as he turned the steed around and began trotting towards the first row of houses, following the column of soldiers marching into Iksay.

Advancing with caution, the frontlines were coming into contact with the enemy. The Grasslanders struck in small squads from shielded positions, harrying the flanks and disappearing before the Zexens could pursue. Already their tactics were beginning to take a toll on the soldiers, and wounded were filtered back, some on stretchers, others steadied by their comrades. Sergeants shouted orders, raising shield barriers to meet the Karayan arrow volleys, and turning squads of spearmen around to meet sudden strikes from the alleys.

((_This is madness! What is she thinking?_)) Borus despaired.

Hooves beat the earth as Roland wound through the throng to rein in by his side. His face was impassive. "Sir Borus, if you will direct the central push, I will cut in from the east and relieve your positions."

His confidence faltered. "Roland, this is madness!" he hissed, careful not to be overheard by the anxious soldiers.

Roland smirked. "Do not give these animals too much credit, Sir Borus. It matters not how far their cowardly tactics stretch. In the end, we will prevail, and we will have done the world a service by putting the mongrels to sleep. Put your trust in the Captain."

Frowning, Borus shook his head and cleared his thoughts. ((_He's right. She believes in me. I should believe in her. I have to prove that her trust is not misplaced,_)) he decided.

Gritting his teeth, he motioned his horse into a gallop through the ranks, raising his sword to the sky. "Glory to the Goddess!" he shouted, and the call rose among the dispirited ranks; a buzz of fevered voices.

The sky's color bled into the Zexen banners gliding on the wind, burnished orange blurred by the sun's bright glare.

The rippling cloth seemed almost to burn.

**-Hugo-**

The dank dungeon walls were slick with moisture, and unseen water dripped from the ceiling, gathering in tiny puddles in the shadows along the corridor. Hugo walked in silence, adjusting his load so that he could caress the back of his hand as he moved. The skin still throbbed where the Fire Rune had been affixed, and though the Rune Sage had assured him that the pain would pass soon enough, the bruised scars made him feel uncomfortable; dirty and vulnerable.

The sudden echo of voices gave him a start, and Hugo readjusted his grip on the burlap sacks and froze, listening. He heard laughter, and the casual words spoken between soldiers as they patrolled the dungeons. He was well past the storehouses, now, and he doubted that any excuse he could think of would convince them if they found him here. Sliding up against the wall, he listened to the approach, looking down the hallway towards the intersection. The sounds told him that they were coming from the side path.

Sweat beading on his forehead, Hugo grinded the back of his head against the cold stones of the wall and held his breath. His hair soaked up the moisture. ((_If they go the other way, they might not see it. _Might _not. Not good enough,_)) he decided.

There were no doors, no side paths that would not put him in view of the approaching soldiers. Gauging their remaining distance, he glanced up towards the ceiling. It would have to do.

The slick stones made poor handholds, but the Wind Rune glimmered in the darkness as gentle winds eased his body and boosted him up to reach the rafters. The dark wood felt half-rotted and creaked under his weight as he clambered onto the beams, but metal bands held them in place, and he hugged the coarse wood with anxious arms and legs. He had left the burlap sacks on the ground, hoping that the shadows would obscure them enough to avert the soldiers' attention. He drew his long-knife from its sheath, clutched the hilt, and prayed that they would.

The use of the Wind Rune had triggered some delayed reaction in the Fire Rune, and his right hand flared up in pain as he clung to the rafters. His fingers paled as he gripped knife and rafter fiercely.

The soldiers strode into the intersection through the side corridor, turning into his passage. He held his breath as they passed beneath him, footsteps echoing through the corridor. Water dripped from the ceiling, some of it pooling in his hair, while other droplets fell to the ground.

"What's this?" one of the soldiers exclaimed.

"What?"

Hugo cursed in silence as two of them squatted down by the sacks and began to rummage through their contents. "What in the blazes is this doing here…?"

"What is that, rum?"

Gritting his teeth, Hugo tensed his limbs and remained entirely still, praying to the spirits that the soldiers would not see him. He tried to think of a plan, but his mind raced too quickly, out of control. He would have to attack them.

One of them raised a bottle and shook it. "No, I think—"

Sweat warmed Hugo's limbs. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed and switched the grip on his long-knife, moving his leg to the side. He had to do it.

Footsteps sounded from behind them. Hugo froze, turning his eyes to see a knight walked into the corridor from the other end.

"Sir Percival!" the soldiers exclaimed. Metal clinked and leather creaked as the four men arranged themselves to salute, stiffening their backs and raising their heads. Hugo grimaced, building a string of curses in the silence of his mind. ((_I can't take them all on. Spirits, Percival alone…_)) he despaired.

"At ease," Percival said. "Is something wrong?"

"Sir, we've found something strange here. These sacks…"

"We think these flasks are filled with oil, sir."

((_Cursed misfortune!_)) Hugo seethed. His pulse raced, and despite the damp rafters and dank air, he felt like his head was boiling.

Percival nodded, stretching his neck lazily. "Good job. I'll handle this."

The soldiers shuffled for a moment, but they did not protest. "Of course, sir." A second passed in silence before the men saluted and continued down the path. Before long, the shadows had swallowed them, and only the echoes of metal boots on stone tiles told Hugo that they were walking away, back the way he had come from.

Percival remained where he was. He crossed his arms over his breastplate and tilted his head to regard the burlap sacks. His raven hair gleamed in the torch-light as he tapped his booted foot against the floor.

"Oil, huh?" he exclaimed. His lilting voice sounded strangely theatrical. "How odd."

He paused for a few seconds. Then he resumed his stroll.

Hugo's eyes bore into his back as he walked away. ((_What in the world was that?_)) he wondered as his lungs recuperated and his skin cooled. The knight's peculiar behavior had him rattled, and he waited for several minutes before climbing down, listening to the sound of his own racing heartbeat as he tried to discern footsteps in the distance.

He still felt dazed when he hurried down the corridor towards the cells.

At least the pain in his hand had faded.

**-Roland-**

Cursing the Fire God, Roland launched arrow after arrow at the Karayans and _saaraks_ as they ran past smoke and lurid flames. His aim was true, but his targets had a habit of disappearing behind shelter all too soon, and he wasted arrows more often than not, even as his soldiers were cut down around him. The Karayan archers were sloppy, hurried, and inept, but what they lacked in skill and numbers, they made up for by tenacity, and they had the upper hand to be certain. ((_'Even drunken dwarves can outshoot a Towayan Sniper, if the world is upside down.' Never truer than now,_)) he mused.

The barbarians were a testament to the inferiority of their races. Humans were filthy and base, but a handful proved capable of rising above their endemic disadvantages and become worthy friends. In comparison, lizards, ducks, and other pathetic mongrels were worth less than the dust beneath his horse's hooves.

Soldiers shouted as the Grasslanders launched yet another strike. They rushed forth from between two burning houses, brandishing knives and short swords as they bellowed their unsettling battle cries. Two _saarak_ warriors added their rumbling voices to the death choir, charging headlong with their glaives. Shields were raised even as Roland nocked his arrow, but the lizards bowled through the ranks, clearing the path for the tenacious Karayan warriors. Arrows sailed from the second story of a building off to the side, its roof not yet aflame. Most struck grass and dirt, but soldiers screamed as shafts embedded themselves in their limbs.

Roland turned in his saddle and released the bowstring. His arrow shot through the air and hit its mark through the window. A scream rang out, and a bowman collapsed against the windowsill. His body was pulled back in, moments before Roland launched a second arrow.

"Stand firm!" he shouted. "Close the ranks and hold your ground!"

Lizard roars filled the air and sent shivers down Roland's spine as a group of _saaraks_ emerged from behind a pile of debris, slamming carts and burning barrels aside to emerge before the soldiers. Roland recognized their leader.

"You!" Dupa bellowed. "I know you! You're the human with blue hair!"

Roland sneered as he nocked a new arrow. His quiver was quickly emptying, but he still had more than enough ammunition to settle this debacle. "You insult me, lizard! I am an elf, not a human!"

"You warm-bloods all look the same to me, worm!" Dupa shouted, slamming his glaive against a box. The wooden planks broke apart like twigs. "Do you remember me? I am Dupa, War Leader of the _Saaraks_!"

"I remember," Roland said, loosing his arrow. He smirked.

Dupa twirled his glaive and slammed the arrow aside. With a thwack, the shaft struck the ground and impaled the earth. The lizard growled.

Roland gaped. Heart filling with dread, he hurriedly reached for another arrow. "Soldiers, fall back! Rally around me!" he shouted.

"Let's see if I'm a match for a _true knight_, warm-blood!" Dupa roared. With a great bellow, he started down the slope with his glaive leveled. As his warriors fell in step with him, the earth seemed to shake. Perhaps it was his imagination.

Roland loosed arrow after arrow, felling one lizard and striking another's arm before the group slammed into the first rank of soldiers. Their shields raised, they jabbed spears and thrust swords at the charging lizards, but fell with screams of agony as the glaives tore through them. Dupa and his warriors trampled them beneath their feet, spinning their weapons like staves to knock soldiers aside. Two of the lizards were brought to their knees and mobbed, disappearing beneath a flurry of steel, but despite their best efforts, soldiers fell like dolls and a path to Roland was clearing. His eyes wide, he shouted for the soldiers to hold their ground as he liberated his feet from their stirrups. ((_The Song will not end here! This is not my time! The Wind God sings my chorus!_)) he vowed.

Leaping up, he landed safely on the well-trained horse's back and balanced on the saddle. Dupa tore through the ranks, swinging and thrusting his glaive with tremendous skill and uncanny speed. The barbarian ambushes had harrowed their ranks, and now they were too few. A soldier set his spear against the charge, trying to skewer the lizard. With a great leap, Dupa bellowed and slashed. The soldier's spear was split in twain along with its wielder. Roland loosed his arrow.

It struck the lizard's shoulder. Dupa roared, but the scream was born of anger and not of pain. He approached all-too quickly, now.

Cursing under his breath, Roland nocked an arrow—to his surprise, it was his last—and aimed. Dupa cleared the last soldier, and leapt.

Roland fired the arrow. The shaft darted towards the lizard.

It never connected. The glaive tore through his legs, and his world exploded in pain as he fell. His lungs burned with pain as he found himself lying on the ground. He tried to rise, to move, but he could not.

The last thing he saw was the glint of sunlight on steel as something darkened his vision.

Then there was pain, and finally peace.

The Wind God was silent.

**-Chris-**

"Never liked the knights much," the soldier grunted. "Always strutting around, thinking yer better than us." He spat, and struggled for the words. "Well… you ain't."

Perhaps due to the unknown woman's chiding, Alron had grown more cautious, and he had ordered a guardsman to watch Chris while he was absent. Chris, meanwhile, found herself unable to do much except remain still, and bide her time.

"I am sad to hear that," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. Her body ached with equal parts weariness and pain, and her back throbbed with hurt as the welts on her back screamed out to remind her. She needed no reminders. Even so, she kept her back straight, and her head high. Even in chains, she still had her pride.

"Shut up," the man growled, slapping her bruised cheek with his gauntlet. The strike was half-hearted, but stung bitterly. "Keep yer mouth shut." His task was to keep her awake, but he was quite liberal with his attentions.

"I assure you, the knights do not make a habit out of considering themselves better than others," she said. ((_…Though it does not surprise me that a worm like you felt disparaged,_)) she thought to herself.

"I said shut up!" he shouted, slapping her once more. This time, her head reeled.

She turned her face back to meet his eyes, and smiled.

The guard spat. "Women should leave the fighting to us men. You fit better in chains than in armor," he laughed stupidly. "What kind of idiot made a woman a knight, anyway?"

"That would be Captain Galahad," Chris said. "But I believe it would be an overstatement to call _you_ a man—"

He raised his hand to slap her—

Springing from her knees, Chris lurched forward, releasing the unshackled manacle to grab his arm. He shouted in surprise, but she dragged him down, and kicked up to wrap her legs around his shoulders. Slamming him down, she battered the back of his head with her elbow. His head was driven into the ground, and she heard a crack, and a groan.

Her blood pumped, and the sudden motion unfettered her emotions. In a fit of fury, she grabbed the hairs on the back of his head and slammed his head against the stone once more. He made no sound. "Filthy worm," she cursed. Heart racing, strength returned to her limbs, and she filled her lungs with ragged breaths as she fumbled along the soldier's belt, twisting his prone body to grab the keys from the girdle. She heard noise from the adjacent room, but ignored it, reaching up to fit the key into the lock of her manacled right hand. Frightened and tired, her hand shook and the key slid against the iron, seeking the keyhole without success. She heard the door creak, and cursed under her breath. Stressed, she slid the key towards the lock. It fit, and she drew breath.

The door opened. "Dolton, what's going on?" the entering guardsman said. He saw her, and began to run towards her, opening his mouth to yell; "THE PRISONER—"

Something moved in the doorway, and she heard the sickening sound of sliced flesh. The man groaned, gurgled, and collapsed on the floor with a reverberating thud.

Holding a bloody knife, Hugo stepped through the doorway. His eyes found her, and he paused.

Once the shock resided, her heart filled with brimming warmth. She was delighted to see him.

Even if he had come to kill her.

**-Hugo-**

Chris sat frozen on the floor as he approached, staring at him with a look of confusion and… something he could not decipher. The shock of seeing her as she was had been staggering. She was battered, bruised, and all but broken, with contusions all over her arms and face. The clothes she had worn when he found her in her mansion were grimy with dirt and blood, torn and barely fit for modesty, and her features were slick with sweat. The sight of her roused a blinding rage within, the maintenance of which required deep lungfuls of air and overshadowed whatever other angers he felt.

His fingers ached around the hilt of his long-knife. He eased his grip and quickly wiped the blood on his trousers before sheathing the weapon. "I'm not here to kill you," he said.

Finishing what she had started, she turned the key to liberate her right arm from its manacle and rubbed her sore wrist and forearm with her hand. She remained silent, mystifyingly so.

"They didn't… you can talk, right?" he asked, hairs standing on end as he knelt next to her and took the key from the dangling lock.

She blinked, and gaped slightly. "Yes," she said. Suddenly animated, she edged away from him and looked at his hands. "I will do that."

"No," he said. Before she could protest, he leaned down and unlocked the chains that bound her ankles one by one. He listened to her hitched breaths as he worked, breathing through his mouth to filter out the cell's stench of urine.

Freed from her chains, Chris staggered to her feet and stretched her legs, steadying herself on the manacles hanging from the ceiling above. For a moment, her eyes clouded and closed. She collapsed—

—into Hugo's arms. Embarrassed, he pushed her back and held her shoulders carefully as she roused. "Can you walk? You look like rotted wood. Do you… need me to carry you?" he wondered. ((_Spirits, please say no,_)) he prayed. A quieted part of him wanted the opposite.

"No," she breathed sharply, stepping away. Her violet eyes were clear, and she flushed. Collecting herself, she stiffened her back and regarded him calmly. "You have not come to kill me, and indeed why would you go through all that trouble just to beat Alron to the punch. So, why are you here?" she wondered. She rasped the words, but she kept her voice steady.

"I don't know. Who'd want to hang around in a place like this?" he said sarcastically. ((_The truth is, I really _don't _know,_)) he admitted. "I wanted to talk to you. I'm not going to let… I mean," he fumbled, embarrassed. "Forget it. This isn't the time. …Alron did this?"

The question roused her from a daze. "He feels I make a poor Captain," she said, forcing the words.

Hugo spat. "He's a right bastard. If I catch him—"

Chris watched him curiously. Her hand brushed against his side. "Are you hurt?"

The touch roused a frisson of excitement, and Hugo flushed. "N-No," he stammered. Her features softened somewhat with concern, and she frowned at him. For a moment, he stared, but then a distant sound of clanging metal brought him back. He swallowed. "Let's go."

Chris' mouth opened, and she seemed about to speak, but shook her head and clamped her lips together. "Let us indeed," she said after a moment, nodding to herself.

((_Questions are for later. Spirits, I need some answers myself!_)) Hugo decided.

Without another word, Chris walked towards the gaping doorway, and Hugo padded behind her, keeping a firm grip on his sheathed dagger. He went cold as he saw her torn back. ((_Spirits, how can she even stand up?_)) he wondered, gaping. Grimacing, he readied himself to catch her if she should stumble, but she seemed to have poured steel into her spine, walking with straight back and brisk steps.

Stepping over the soldier he had stabbed in the back, Hugo entered the guard room. The dank chamber was empty, and he glanced back at Chris as he strode into the middle of the floor and moved towards the far door. "We've got everything set up; this way."

"We?" Chris wondered.

"Right, I—"

The side door opened, and Alron stepped into the room. His sullen features changed to shock, and his gaunt cheeks flared with emotion. His eyes were fixed on Hugo as his sword flew from sheath to hand. "You!" he exclaimed.

The all too familiar face made Hugo's blood boil, and he saw Chris' features harden to stone. "You've made a big mistake, rat," Hugo growled.

"I don't think so, barbarian," Alron snickered. "Your slut doesn't even have a sword, and you… you don't stand a chance."

He stepped forward and drew his long-knife, moving the blade in a ceremonial curse. "I'll carve an apology out of your hide for that," he hissed. Glancing at Chris, he unclasped his cloak and slung it back to reveal his father's sword in its sheath on his back. She stepped behind him.

Alron laughed. "Hiding behind the barbarian, little girl? You're a disgrace to the knights!"

"Not quite, _sir_," Chris said icily. She braced her left hand against Hugo's shoulder as she drew the sword from its sheath. "Pray for death, Alron: I very much doubt that you have my tolerance for pain." Her voice twisted with starving rage as she spoke and ended with a bestial growl.

Hugo tore the cloak from his body and flung it towards Alron. The knight laughed, and Hugo raised his left hand. The Fire Rune flared bright crimson. Flames burst from his hand and shot towards the cloak. The cloth burst into flames as it sailed towards Alron. Hugo stepped to the side as Chris ran past him. Invoking his Wind Rune, he flung fists of air through the cloth. The unseen hands pummeled Alron. He did not react. Chris closed the gap, and slashed.

Alron's features blurred as he leapt to the side. Too fast for a human. He balanced on the table, parrying Chris' sword with ease. His features were hazy as he lunged. Steel clashed on steel as Chris was driven back. She retreated against the wall and parried his swift strikes with each step.

Hugo panicked, gathering wind force. Knotting the air, he raised a barrier. Alron's sword cut through the shield like a knife through vellum. ((_HOW?_)) Hugo wondered.

Alron swung around to laugh. He raised his left hand, displaying a bright emblem in green and gray. The symbol was not known to Hugo. Chris gasped.

"A Gale Rune," he snickered. "Still think you've got the upper hand?"

The cloak burned to ashes as the flames simmered on the floor.

**-Jimba-**

The windmill turned, revolving without concern for the fact that its skeletal slats were blazing. Aflame, the wheel of fire kept rotating in the wind that fuelled the flames, seeming to burn a hole in the sky, singing the clouds. It seemed a harbinger of fire, and of chaos.

Jimba stood beneath the windmill, watching the village as small bands of Karayan warriors darted between houses and conversed in hushed tones, setting up ambushes for the willfully advancing soldiers. The Zexens had marched into their trap with great zest, commanded by their Captain of the Knights, and he was more than surprised. ((_Perhaps she is not cut out to be a knight,_)) he thought. It was a depressing thought, though hard to define.

'Blood for blood,' the _saaraks_ had called, demanding vengeance for the Zexen aggression. Chief Lucia had spent much effort on reversing this vengeful desire, to calm the _saaraks_ before too much blood was spilled. And in the end, he had brought his warriors both to cement the alliance, but also to prevent a holocaust. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince Dupa of this. Still, he had relented. It was the Karayans who had bled the most, after all.

Even then, he could not shake the guilt. Torching homes was… unpleasant. Unworthy.

Shouts rose from the square, where the debris of a dozen houses had been emptied and set aflame. A galloping horse sped into view, and upon the horse sat—

((_Christina!_)) Jimba thought. Gaping, he stood baffled for a moment. ((_How did she get past our warriors? What in the name of the Goddess is she doing?_)) Blood pounding, he ran down the slope towards the square. _Saaraks_ were beginning to filter in from the sides, running through the rubble towards the woman. Soldiers were rushing towards the square, but they were checked by his warriors. They would not reach her in time.

"Take her alive!" he hollered, twice. Bolting, he ran towards her. The _saarak_ warriors flocked around her, drawing closer. She raised her sword, but made no motion to shout or defend herself.

He sprinted, screaming.

The _saaraks _thrust their glaives into horse and rider, stabbing and slashing with brutal efficiency. The horse fell, and the Silver Maiden collapsed beneath its flank, crushed. The warriors gathered around her and stabbed their weapons repeatedly.

Jimba went cold, and felt emotion building within. Searing rage, and chilling sorrow. He reached the square and halted as a rooftop collapsed before him, spilling burning planks and rubble onto the ground. He shielded his eyes from dust and sparks, and looked up to find that he had lost sight of Christina through the lurid flames. When the blaze simmered down and the dust settled, the square was covered with debris.

((_Did she get buried beneath the rubble?_)) he wondered. Running closer, he looked around. He found nothing, no blood, no horse… No knight.

No _saaraks_. ((_This is… awry. This can't be right,_)) he thought.

A wordless bellow of mindless rage snapped him back to reality. He turned to see a knight separate from the advancing soldiers, charging past the Karayan defenders. His sword bit into their flesh as he passed them, but it was an afterthought. His eyes were on Jimba. And he was furious.

Knight and horse thundered towards him. He threw himself behind a burning barrel, avoiding the warhorse's trampling hooves. The steed galloped past and was reined in amid a cloud of dust. The knight threw himself from the saddle and landed with a thud. "Die!" he screamed.

Rounding the barrel, they came face to face. Blonde hair framed a face contorted in blind rage. He held his sword with both hands, and charged.

"Borus the Butcher!" Jimba exclaimed. His shock was tempered by anger.

Sparks flew as their swords connected. The knight drove wildly, slashing and thrusting. Jimba slammed the sword from side to side to parry the attacks. Backing up, he suddenly lunged. He feinted, but the knight did not fall for it. Borus countered, and Jimba almost stumbled as he batted the attack aside. ((_They say he's the best swordsman among the Zexen knights… How good is that?_)) he wondered.

The shouts of Zexens and Karayans filled the square. The soldiers were advancing, pushing his warriors back.

Borus swayed, stepping forward with an overhand slash. Their weapons clanged together several times. Jimba backpedaled and thrust back. Borus met the attack and pressed forward. He broke the deadlock with a twist of his sword, and drove the point forward.

Jimba leapt back, retracting his sword to parry. Sparks flew. He lunged, sweeping his blade from side to side. The knight held his sword aloft to catch the blow. Weaving past the sword, Jimba thrust, then slashed.

Stepping aside, Borus slammed fists and hilt into his shoulder. He brought his sword down. Jimba grunted as he was forced onto his knees. Reeling, he parried the attack. Rolling back, he bounded back onto his feet. "You're good, but you won't beat me," he said, breathing raggedly.

"You're wrong," Borus growled. "I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do."

"Not today, you won't," Jimba said.

He turned and ran.

"Retreat!" he shouted. "Fall back! Fall back!" He sprinted for all he was worth, and made for the nearest building. Borus cursed his name in fits of furious screams. Jimba rounded the corner—

—and heard the thwack of a steel blade embedding itself in the wood. The sword swayed, vibrating. He kept running, blood chilled by Borus' enraged bellow.

((_That man is a beast,_)) he thought. Fearing horse and hooves, he sprinted for cover.

Before long, he was thanking the Goddess for Karayan exercise.

**-Hugo-**

Alron lunged. His features blurred, and his sword flashed, too quick to follow. Chris flicked her sword. Steel clashed on steel, and blood poured from her shoulder. She gasped, and staggered back.

Hugo cursed, and gathered wind force. Bands of air snatched up a chair and tossed it. The wooden stool slammed into the knight's back, staggering him. ((_He's quick, but his reactions are no better,_)) he realized.

Chris darted past the dazed man as Hugo grabbed each chair in turn. Alron swept his sword and swayed, dodging two chairs. The third slammed into his gut, and he grunted, doubling over.

Still blurred, the knight straightened his back as Chris ran to Hugo's side. Alron laughed; a strained sound. He charged towards them, sword outstretched. He raised the blade.

"Now!" Chris hissed. She grabbed his arm, and threw herself aside. He followed.

Alron's sword clanged and scraped against stone. He slammed into the wall, and grunted.

Hugo scrambled to his feet and tore the door open. Chris did not need encouragement. They ran through, and slammed the door shut. "He is quick, but not accustomed to the rune," Chris said. "We can use that to our advantage."

Hugo nodded. Within moments, he heard the knob turn. The door was open before they had come ten paces down the corridor. Sprinting, Hugo kept glancing back. Alron emerged from the doorway, speeding through the dark hall like a hazy arrow set on its target.

They threw themselves aside. Alron ran past them, skidding to a halt further down the corridor. He staggered, but kept his balance. Turning, he grinned, and then his form blurred. He charged.

Chris raised her sword. "Use your rune!" she said.

Hugo drew a deep breath, gathering wind force in his hands. The hems of his clothes flapped in the breeze. Alron raced towards them, and Chris lunged. Her sword twisted, slamming against an unseen blade twice before she thrust the weapon. Gasping, Alron veered and crashed onto the ground.

He was on his feet in an instant, grinning.

Hugo unleashed his spell. The wind force spawned a whirlwind that formed into a ball. He threw it towards Alron. With a great noise, the sphere slammed into his gut.

He stood unaffected.

"It's not working!" Hugo shouted in frustration. He cursed profusely, stabbing his long-knife through the air.

Chris pursed her lips and stepped in front of Hugo. She took up a protective stance. Irritated, Hugo met Alron's eyes over her shoulder.

The knight held his sword parallel to the ground. "Frustrating? The sword I wield is a Crown Rune; a child of the Sovereign Rune. Quite a useful gift from… another benefactor. As long as I hold this blade, your magic is useless against me."

Hugo's blood froze. ((_And then there's the Gale Rune… Can we win?_)) he despaired.

Chris snorted. "Impressive. One more rune, and you might be able to fight like a man."

Alron growled. Watching her, Hugo frowned. For all her bravado, she was exhausted, and in no condition to face the knight even on equal terms. He had to do something.

"Run," he hissed. He grabbed her arm, and sprinted, pulling her along. The staccato beat of too-swift footsteps on stone followed. Alron. With a heave, he pushed Chris forward. She grunted and staggered down the corridor, and he turned. Alron flew into view. Hugo ducked and swept his leg out. He connected with Alron's knee, toppling the knight. Alron slammed into the ground with a thud, but Hugo was already running. He raced down the corridor, catching up with Chris. She snarled at him, and he grimaced at her.

Rounding the corner, Hugo dove to the side. He crawled up against the wall and pulled out the burlap sacks he had left there. Sheathing his weapon with fevered hands, he grabbed a bottle and tossed it. Alron leaned in mid-stride as he came into view, moving too fast to turn. The bottle smashed into the ground and split open in shards of glass. Hugo raised his hand and activated his Fire Rune. Flames shot forth, igniting the oil that spilled from the broken bottle. The corridor erupted in flames, and he reached down to grab another bottle. Chris did not need an explanation. She was lobbing oil flasks towards the knight, one after another. The Fire Rune flashed repeatedly. Bottles smashed against walls and floor, their contents lighting on fire as soon as the spark hit the oil. He lost sight of Alron.

Chris tore the sacks from the floor and handed one to Hugo. She slung the other over her shoulder. "Move!" she said.

They fled down the corridor, hearing Alron's screams over the crackle of the flames.

"Did we get him?" Hugo asked breathlessly.

An aura of bright flame surrounded Alron's hazy form as he leapt through the fire.

Hugo cursed. Glass shattered as bottles flew through the corridor, and he ignited the oil again and again. The flames paved a zigzag path for the furious knight. The fire singed him, but his sword seemed to protect him. Mostly.

They rounded another corner, and Hugo reined Chris in as he threw a bottle around the corner. She looked bone weary, and her breathing was hitched. ((_Why in the blazes am I doing this, again?_)) he wondered. He shook his head, and pulled her close. "When he comes around, stab him," he whispered.

Without waiting for confirmation, Hugo turned. Alron spouted profanity as he sped down the hall. Hugo grabbed a bottle and slammed it into the ground right before his feet, stepping back to avoid the oil spatter. He took a deep breath, tempering his fear.

The hazy knight gained shape and contour, skidding to a halt at the corner. He turned. Hugo torched the oil, and Alron staggered back, shielding his eyes. Chris ran past him and lunged. Alron swayed.

Chris' sword pierced his shoulder and pinned him. Screaming, he stumbled. His sword flashed, and she drew out her sword to parry. He staggered, and she lunged. Steel clanged. Hugo ran towards them. Chris slashed—a feint. Alron tried to parry, and Chris clutched his throat. She stepped forward and planted her knee in his crotch. Three times. Groaning, the knight doubled over as Hugo came to a halt before him, breathing raggedly. He blurred, struggling to escape. Chris pushed down, bringing him to his knees. Her eyes were murderous. With a push, he collapsed onto his back.

Dropping her sword, Chris took to fists and nails.

Sickened, Hugo averted his eyes and listened to the tortured groans. ((_He deserves it. I'll stop her, but… not right now,_)) he thought, swallowing.

Footsteps pounded down the corridor. "There!" someone shouted. "Halt!" another man said. Hugo turned to see a squad of soldiers running down the corridor towards them. He ran towards Chris, looking down the flame-wrought hallway they had left behind.

Chris hesitated, and Alron screamed, "A-Arrest them!" His voice was muddled, and he coughed blood.

Hugo shifted his sweaty grip on his long-knife and stretched his neck, hiding a sigh beneath a growl. He glanced at Chris, still sitting on Alron's battered body. Her eyes gleamed, and she was hunched over, breathing with a rasp. Her fists clutched Alron's bloody clothes. ((_If I'm this tired, I've no idea what keeps her going. Well, anger,_)) he guessed.

Chris rose to her feet, resting one foot solidly on Alron. He struggled weakly beneath her foot, and she stamped down her heel on his stomach several times. He groaned.

"This man has committed high treason," Chris said. "Arrest him."

The soldiers halted, staring at the scene in confusion. Whispers ran through the men, and they exchanged glances. "Is that the Silver Maiden…?" someone muttered.

"What is the matter? Do you not recognize the Captain of the Knights?" Chris scowled.

"N…Nonsense!" Alron shouted. He grunted as Chris stamped her foot down, but kept talking. "She's… she's just a prisoner. D-Don't be fooled!"

"But, Sir Alron…" one of the soldiers started.

"Enough of this!" Chris exclaimed. "Have this man bound in chains, right now."

The soldiers hesitated. "Is it really her…?" someone asked. "Why would she be here, like this?" another man wondered.

"She's an imposter!" Alron spat. "And the resemblance is minor! She's—ungh—with a Grasslander!"

One of the soldiers stepped forward. "He's right! It can't be the Silver Maiden!" He pointed his spear towards her. "Release the Vice-Captain this instant!"

Hugo glanced at the captain and the pinned knight. She remained furious, and more so due to this slight, but her features were cooling with each moment that passed. Alron met his gaze, and smiled.

"I think not, Sergeant," a voice called out.

The soldiers parted as Percival strode in among them, making his way to the front of the crowd. "Milady," he said, bowing deeply. The soldiers gasped, and fell to their knees in salutations. Chris nodded calmly.

"No! Arrest them!" Alron spat. "She's a t-traitor, and she's assaulted a f-fellow knight!"

The soldiers glanced at Percival, whose eyes turned to Alron. "I think you will find that the Silver Maiden is much more beloved than you, Alron."

Alron's features showed surprise, then sullen resignation. No fear, Hugo noticed.

"Sir Percival," Chris said. Her voice had softened, but the absence of rage left an overwhelming streak of exhaustion. "I am glad to see you."

Percival's voice was tense with emotion as he spoke. "Arrest Sir Alron at once," he said, pointing. The soldiers ran up towards the pinned knight, and Percival approached Chris as she released him. Hugo regarded the knight with leftover suspicion. ((_What will they do with me…? Sure, I helped her escape, but…_)) Hugo wondered. He kept silent, afraid to draw attention to himself. He could see the soldiers look at him with distrust. He even recognized a few faces from before.

"Milady, I…" Percival began. He swallowed, looking at her battered and bruised body. "This is horrible. He… Alron did this?"

"Yes," she said simply. She glanced back to regard Alron as he was dragged away by the soldiers, too beaten to walk without a great deal of support.

"Percival, I need for you to lock Alron up in the deepest cells. Make sure only you and whoever you have to involve know about his presence here. Have the Gale Rune on his hand removed. And do not speak a word of what has happened here today."

((_Huh? What is she playing at?_)) Hugo wondered.

Percival's eyebrows rose. "Why?"

Chris shook her head. "I will explain later. Right now, we need to move swiftly."

"Yes, milady. I will see to it immediately. A Gale Rune…" Percival mused in a low voice. "I thought I was supposed to be the 'Swordsman of the Gale.'" If it was meant as a joke, he gave no indication. He bowed, and turned to regard Hugo for a moment. With a grim smile on his face, he bowed again, nearly as deeply. Surprised, Hugo stared at him as he walked off.

Clutching at his chest, Hugo breathed raggedly.

Somehow, he was alive.

**-Chris-**

Chris went from wardrobe to wardrobe, tearing through the contents and tossing clothes into a pile in the middle of the room. She worked methodically, sorting out everything that might fit. She had no time act like a lady.

"What are you doing?" Hugo muttered again. He sounded weary, and this fact reminded her of how exhausted she must be. Somehow, she had managed to remain conscious throughout the ordeal, but she thought it a feat of sheer force of will. That, and a healthy stamina. Now that her anger was abating… somewhat… she found sleep inviting. It had been too long since she rested. She could not sleep quite yet. The pain in her limbs and joints, and the tremendous, scathing ache on her back allowed her to remain focused.

"There should be a washbasin in the cupboard over there. Find me some soap, as well, and fill it up with water," she said.

Hugo sighed. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why?" he wondered. Even so, she heard him walk over to the cupboard and begin rummaging through its contents.

"You will see," she muttered. She glanced at his broad back as he acquiesced, feeling a strange stirring within. Confusion, no doubt. ((_Why in the Goddess' golden court did he come? He hates me… does he not? Why would he go to all this trouble, and for what?_)) She shook her head, abandoning the thought. She was glad for his presence, and that was that.

Thankfully, her headache had abated, allowing her to concentrate. She was rifling through the pile of clothes when he walked over with the water-filled washbasin and set it down, handing her the soap. "Here."

"Thank you," she said. She stole a quick look at his eyes before she knelt down and quickly washed her face. "You are aware," she said between breaths and splashes of water. "That is it terribly unfit of a gentleman to watch a lady wash herself?"

"No, not really," he said. Oblivious to her hint, he squatted next to the washbasin and stared at her. He stared! Openly! She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. He did not look away.

Shaking her head, Chris snagged a towel and wiped soap and water from her face. Looking into the mirror she had procured, she saw that her face remained severely bruised.

"Heal my face," she said.

"What! You've been bloody _whipped_, and you want me to use my healing on your _face?_ I know you're beautiful, but—" He paused, and blushed. "You're incredible!" he snorted, scowling.

Clearing her throat, Chris pretended that her cheeks were not flushing with color. ((_I am not a girl. I am used to such inane flattery by now; it should be of no consequence,_)) she thought. Should. Folding her arms over her chest, she frowned at him. "Would you _please _do as I request? I would do it myself, but that… woman… removed my Water Rune."

"Fine," Hugo grumbled. He triggered the Wind Rune on his right hand and reached out to her face. Realizing what he was about to do, he hesitated with an awkward look on his face.

She did _not _flush. "Go ahead," she said.

His fingers touched her forehead, barely. The bright glow of the Wind Rune washed over her face, and she felt the warmth of healing magic seep through her skin and into her veins. The ache in her cheeks and jaw began to fade as it spread through her head, and she found herself unable to contain a sigh of pleasure.

"That's… that's about it," he said.

Chris opened her eyes and drew a deep breath. She wiped the smile off of her face, and found Hugo staring at her with an odd look. Flustered, she grabbed the mirror and examined herself. Most of the bruises had vanished, and the few that remained were nearly indistinguishable from her skin. "Can you see the bruises?" she asked Hugo.

"Yes. Well, not unless I look really closely. It's fine."

She nodded, and rose to her feet. "Now, I will tell you in no uncertain terms…" she began, placing her hands on her hips and fixing the Grasslander with a stern look. "It is unbefitting of a gentleman to attempt to catch a glimpse of a lady while she is dressing."

"What's a gentleman?" Hugo wondered.

"You are," she said. "Do you understand?"

"Uh, sure. You don't want me to look. Fine." He looked embarrassed, and turned around, sitting down upon the ground with his legs crossed and arms folded.

Chris chose the most fitting clothes from the pile and stepped behind the flowery screen in the corner of the room. She peeked her head out briefly, and saw that Hugo remained facing the far wall.

Satisfied, she slipped out of her torn clothes and dressed in the clean garments. Her wounds sent stabs of pain through her body when the fabric touched the sore spots. Even so, she dressed in haste. ((_I cannot _believe_ that I allowed him to remain in the room with me. What am I thinking? Well, I might need his help, somehow. Yes, that is it. I might,_)) she decided.

She tried to tell herself that she was not embarrassed.

… … …

Chris eyed Hugo with suspicion as they stepped out into the Council Hall corridor. He had remained on the floor and with his back showing when she emerged from behind the screen, and she had no reason to believe that he had tried to peek at her, but she found it difficult to trust him, for some reason.

She felt prepared, as well as was possible with such short notice. Her hair was lacking—she had tried to rearrange it on her own, but her work had been hasty, and dissimilar to her usual style.

Passing an increasing number of busy servants and maids scurrying through the corridors, they stepped into the main hall.

Jena's face turned, and she regarded Chris with surprise.

Rage flooded through her mind, threatening to ignite her heart. Depthless sorrow and pain followed, with memories of Sir Galahad. She fought for control, quelling all emotions as she approached the brown-haired woman with Hugo at her side.

Then, she did the hardest thing she had ever done.

She smiled.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** The orb shells that hold runes are supposedly made of "Water Gems." However, I don't like that term, especially since it refers to one of the five basic rune elements, so I'm going to use the term "Rune Crystals."

**Next Chapter:** In politics, nothing is ever simple. Time pauses for no woman, and as the Harmonian army draws ever closer, the wounds that separate the Grasslands from Zexen are gaping wide. In order to save her nation from disaster, Chris is forced to play a dangerous game of shadows and lies, and in order to win, she must hide her feelings well enough to fool the person she hates the most.

Politics, intrigue, allies and traitors and delicate schemes… Will Hugo be able to come to terms with Lulu's death? Can Chris trust Hugo to play an integral part in her schemes? Find out next time.


	12. Suspicion

All those hands that grasp at lies  
Not to touch; instead to hold  
Reaching out to weightless skies  
Fumbling for a crown of gold  
The myth of power on the throne  
Survives the glory of the bold  
Writ on paper, carved in stone  
The mirage of power is retold  
Pawns in silks are held as kings  
While someone watches time unfold  
From the shadows, with the strings  
-William Silverberg  
_A Fool's Legacy_

* * *

**-Hugo-**

_Shadows sailed across empty skies, weaving strands of fading light into some unseen pattern behind a cover of dim clouds. The heavens hid, quailing with each spark of dying brightness, as though shivering with fear of some anticipated outcome; an omen unknown to the living. Moonless midnight met the Grasslands on the horizon, where endless fields of tall grasses swayed in the wind; a reminder of the world's motion to bring words to the silence of the night, and contrast to the omens of an unseen mind. Gripping the fields, the wind was silent._

_The grass grew tall as trees, flanking Hugo as he wound across the plains. With each step, the enormous, broad grass sheaves to either side shrank as he grasped at them, pushing the oppressive stalks aside as they reached out and wrapped themselves about his waist and shoulders, slowing him down. Determined, somehow calm and insensate, he walked down a lane of shadows as the wind sought him, hunting for his presence. With each step, the grasses shrank._

_Stumbling down a slope, past a ravine lined with odd, bleached stones, he crawled onto a muddy ridge as the grass shrank down to his head. Past it, a bedrock, and upon the stone, a figure dressed in the Karayan _soriak.

_Cautious, Hugo squatted on his haunches to stare at the figure. With languid motions, the head rose, and its eyes met Hugo's. The boy smiled, and beckoned for him._

_The grass fell away as Hugo rose, leaving barren fields of ashen dirt in his wake, and across the horizon. He approached, and settled down across from the boy. Between them, dying embers glowed within a fire pit circled by identical, round rocks. Bleached, and somehow odd._

_Hugo glanced up, meeting the boy's eyes. "You're dead," he said. In place of joy, he found only guilt within._

_Lulu grinned, weighing something back and forth between his clasped hands. "Life and death are but two ways for spirits to live. We are all dead."_

_Hugo furrowed his brows. "That's a strange thing to say."_

_Lulu shrugged. "It's your thought, not mine." Reaching down, he emptied his hands onto the ground, and bones clattered against the rock. Bleached bird heads and lion's teeth, dyed brown and green and red to contrast the white, all arranged in a chaotic pattern. The boy's eyes sparkled as he tapped the fetishes, mouthing unspoken words as he calculated their positions._

_Twice in his life he had seen them. Diviners' tools, the _aralay hunal, _traditionally used by the tribe's shamans. A dwindling practice. Twice he had seen them used, but with a crucial difference._

_Lulu was making of the bones and teeth a _game

_Grinning, wringing his hands in excitement, Lulu studied the _aralay hunal _as he spoke, "We spend so much of our time preparing. So much time spent… searching for words. Don't you agree? Of course you do." Mumbling between breaths, he never once looked up from the cast bones and teeth. "We whet our weapons, and search for words, hoping that our knives will be sharp enough when we need them the most, praying that our words will be heartfelt enough when we need to be heard." He frowned, leaning forward to examine a bird's skull. The bone was cracked, a hairline fracture running across the pate. "But it doesn't work that way, does it? Weapons snap and break in the heat of battle, and we find ourselves speechless when we need to say farewell."_

_Lulu looked up, and met his eyes._

_Hugo's throat felt tight, and his mouth was dry. He could not speak. Around him, the world darkened alarmingly as the skies grew to fortress walls of midnight black. A fierce wind swept through his hair, passing without sound._

"_Lulu…"_

_The smile drained from Lulu's face. "Why, Hugo?"_

_Lulu bent down, mouth gaping open as he clutched at his chest. Where he touched, blood began to pour from between his fingers; crimson streams escaping his fumbling hands. He shivered and quailed, smearing blood over his clothes as terror crept into his features. "Why won't you make the bleeding stop?"_

"_I tried." The words were a pitiful whisper._

"_It's because of her. You won't close the wound, because of—"_

_A sword descended, lopping Lulu's head from his shoulders. Bloodless, the limp body fell forward onto the dirt, disturbing the teeth and bones as the head thumped against the ground. Roots sprung from the earth, grasping and pulling at Lulu's body._

_A foot stamped down upon the boy's back, pressing down as the body sank beneath the ground. Shocked, Hugo raised his eyes._

_Still and silent stood a wraith in armor, a woman whose hard features stood in sharp, bright contrast with the night. Silver hair and silver sword… and eyes that burned with violet flames._

"_Because of her," Lulu said._

_Hugo turned to see the boy's decapitated head peek up from the desiccated grasses. The eyes were stern, and accusing._

"_Why won't you avenge me, Hugo?"_

_Hugo lurched forward, regaining his feet. His breath caught in his throat._

_Around him, the field was littered with skulls. All facing him, all speaking in a single voice as they said, "Why won't you avenge us?"_

_Hugo backed away, clutching at his head. "No… I…"_

_The hiss of smoldering earth filled the air as the knight walked up to him. Her armor was gone, revealing features shrouded in bright light; shrouded, but unmistakably feminine. She held out her sword, a glowing beam of light._

_Hugo shook his head, and turned. He ran._

_His footsteps pounded on the cracked dirt, and each step sent tremors across the field, causing the world to quake. In the distance, he saw mountains break and topple. The ground sank away beneath him, as the world shrank to a spark of fleeing light. He fell, tumbling through darkness broken by a single, fading speck of light._

_The voices followed._

Hugo woke gasping for air, shooting up from his mattress as he choked down the last part of a scream. Slick with sweat, he raked fingers through his hair as he took in the features of the room from his position on the floor. He felt frantic, and a chilling sensation washed over him. Sweeping his covers from his body, he sat up and adjusted his eyes against the moonlight streaming through the window. He clutched at his knees as his breathing slowed, and he calmed down. _It was just a dream… But the voices won't fade._

Rising from the sweat-soaked bedroll, he stumbled onto his feet. He had to clear his mind; to feel the wind on his skin. The manor had a distinct, unfamiliar smell, and it unnerved him. Like the conjured world of shadows from his dream, the cavernous mansion seemed to shrink around him as his mind settled on the realization.

_The voices are mine._

**-Chris-**

Chris was wandering aimlessly through the manor's main passage when a scream snapped her out of a dark thought. It came from a door down the corridor. _Hugo's sleeping in there, _she thought.

Her sword had left its sheath before she reached the door, and she tugged it open with a reckless yank and leapt inside. "Hugo?" she called out.

Something moved in the pale light, and a blade flashed. Hugo was upon her in an instant. He swung the knife, and she swayed. Iron tore through wood as the blade nicked the frame. He stumbled back and tore the weapon free, but she followed. Reversing the blade, she smashed the hilt into his neck.

Groaning, he stumbled back, and she saw his face.

"Hugo!" she gasped, "It was you?"

Coughing and wheezing, Hugo knelt into a split to massage his throat. She sank to the floor and sheathed her sword as she leaned closer to see his wound in the darkness.

Hugo snarled. He caught her wrist and shoved her around, pushing her facedown against the hard floorboards. She yelped and tried to twist free, but his grip was too strong.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked coldly.

"I do not—"

"Yes, you do," he said.

The sheath of Chris' sword stabbed against her leg in the unnatural position. She bent her head to glare at him. "Why did you attack me?" _You certainly have reason to, but why now?_

Hugo looked confused, but then his eyes hardened. "You're the one who tried to kill me."

"Do not be a fool," she said, "I came because I heard a scream."

"I didn't scream," he protested, but his eyes had widened as she spoke. His grip relaxed.

Chris spun around, freed her arm and shoved him away. He staggered and leaned back on his hands, while she bent her legs and sat down with her hands in her lap. "Yes, you did. In fact—"

She blinked.

"What?"

Chris' face flushed with color as her eyes roamed his body. The barbarian was dressed in nothing but his unmentionables! Sheathed in sweat as from hours of toil, his features were tan and toned, his shoulders were broad, and his arms …

She tore her eyes away, turning to focus on the unused bed. _That is _not_ a boy's body; _a stray thought. "Goddess; you are indecent," she said, nearly choking on the words. She felt suddenly aware of her cotton nightgown.

"What? It was just a scream! I had a nightmare!"

"No, that is..." She glanced back at him. She noticed now how wild and unkempt his hair looked in the pale moonlight spilling in from the window. Her eyes fell on his chest as he squirmed, and she turned her head away again. Squeezing her eyes shut to will the embarrassment away, she said, "You are not properly clothed. This is improper." _Yes; highly improper. _She turned and stood.

She had taken a single step towards the door when his arm caught her shoulder. "Wait. I attacked you, and you didn't kill me. Why? I need to know!"

_Because I killed your friend, _she lamented. Drawing a deep breath to still the shame, Chris opened her eyes and glanced timidly at the boy. _He's confused… But so am I. _"Why did you come for me in the dungeon?"

He creased his forehead. "I rescued you. Isn't that what you meant to say?"

She thought she saw a look of smugness pass over his face. "I did not _need _your assistance," she said quickly.

His hand fell from her shoulder, and he stiffened. She felt a pang of guilt. "Your assistance was timely," she added, swallowing the bitter taste of remorse, "But I would have managed to escape on my own, if necessary." _I believe that much is true… But I wish I hadn't said that. Why should he be so smug about it? Goddess, he must hate me! But a few hours ago, he risked his life to drag me out of the dungeon. _She felt helplessly confused.

Hugo threw up his arms in exasperation. "Fine!" he exclaimed, turning to face the window. "I can leave at any time," he added.

"Indeed," Chris said with a nod. _But you won't. Why is that?_

Hugo's expression softened somewhat as he raked his fingers through messy strands of hair. His eyes took in the sight of her nightgown, and passed over her scabbard. "Do you sleep with that sword?" He did not wait for an answer. "Why are you here?"

"I told you; I heard you scream."

Hugo sounded suddenly weary. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, why are you here, in this house?"

She raised an eyebrow as she turned to face him. "This is my home. I live here."

He shook his head and sighed. She froze as he leaned down to pick up his knife from the floor, but relaxed again as he quickly sheathed it beneath the blankets. "Sure; you live here in this enormous chunk of cut stone and carved wood. Fine; but why are you here _now_? You just got thrown into a deep hole by the Council, and dug yourself out. Aren't you going to do something?" He stretched out as he rose. "Besides; that woman…? What was her name; Jena? She gives me the creeps, and you look like you're going to breathe lightning when her back is turned. Why are you letting her stay with you?"

She realized that her mouth was sagging open as he spoke. When he finished, she snapped her mouth shut, and wagged a finger at him. "I am _not _letting her stay with me, and I do _not _look like I…" She paused, and sniffed as a look of amusement entered his features. "That is beside the point. That woman is—"

Chris snapped her mouth shut and turned towards the door to listen.

"What?" Hugo asked.

She hushed him. Confirming the sound of creaking floorboards from the corridor, she turned back to him. He was frowning, but she ignored it. "Listen, Hugo," she pleaded, "Please play along. She cannot be trusted."

Hugo's mouth worked, but no sound came. He stared at her with a puzzled look on his face.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo's eyes lifted from Chris' breast as Jena strolled into the room. Unlike Chris, she was wearing a prim dress with a high neck and lacy cuffs, and her hair was set in a pair of flat braids. Unlike Chris, she wore no weapon. A look of surprise came over her face as she saw them, and her small, petulant mouth twisted into a distasteful smirk as moonlight spilled over her features.

Past the threshold, Jena hesitated for a moment before approaching. Chris squared her back, and a stern look came over her face, but she did not turn to face the newcomer.

Hugo resisted the urge to glance at his sheathed knife. _If she can't be trusted, why are we playing games? Spirits! We should stick a blade in her gut and throw her out the window._

A smug look came over Chris' face, as though a realization dawned on her. She nodded at him, passing judgment. "Excellent," she said flatly. "You will pass for the Karayan Chief's son, without a doubt."

Hugo's eyebrows lifted in surprise before he caught himself and smoothed his expression. _What? _He would have voiced the question aloud, but Chris silenced him by sealing her lips in an overly obvious gesture. He hoped that Jena had not seen his reaction in the dim light.

"Good," he said uncertainly. _She's pretending that I'm an imposter? _Her plan dawned on him._ No; an illusion. That must mean Jena's in league with whoever's behind all these tricks. All the more reason to tie her up right now. _Frustrated, he decided to cooperate, and hid a frown hopefully before Jena got close enough to see their faces. Chris flashed him a grim smile before turning to slowly face the woman.

"You have returned," Chris said.

Jena stepped from the shadows and into the moonlight, a quizzical look on her face. "Has there been another change of plans?" she asked Chris.

Both women seemed unnaturally tense to him, as they stood staring at each other. Their faces were inscrutable, and their actions coldly hostile. More than anything, the eye-contact resembled a battle of wills. _She's said that the woman is 'needed' for some reason, but what? She hasn't told me anything; I might as well be trying to figure out Jena's intentions as hers._

He tried to think of what to say, but his mind fumbled with the subtleties of the situation. _Maybe it's better I just keep my mouth shut… But what should I do? Nothing? _Chris' cold eyes seemed to caution him against speaking, but his frustration was building. "I—"

Chris immediately raised a hand to cut him off. She did not even take her eyes off of Jena.

Hugo let out a heavy breath. _Spirits! Why am I involved in this damn thing? I shouldn't even be in this Rune-forsaken place._ _I shouldn't be _helping_ her. _His mind ached with guilt, and he thought of the dagger hidden beneath the blankets.

The women did not see him. Sparks seemed to strike where their eyes met. "That is no concern of yours," Chris said, "Everything is going as planned."

"You were going to the Dunan Republic," Jena said slowly.

Chris hesitated.

**-Chris-**

Chris watched Jena as she considered the statement. _What might the Republic have to do with this conflict?_ The woman's eyes bore into her, as though searching for a weakness. _Is this a test? She must suspect me, though she can't be sure._

She considered her options for a second, and then said, "No." _That should be suitably vague._

Jena showed a hint of surprise, but said nothing. Chris tried to gauge the reaction, but there was no way of telling what that moment of vacillation meant. _Has she seen through my ruse? _The insidious woman would likely bide her time, awaiting a better opportunity to unmask her, rather than put her life on the line by confronting them now. _No, she won't reveal her intentions until she's safe, and if she's safe, then we're in danger. She cannot be sure; she must wonder why I won't kill her if I'm not who I pretend to be; this woman, this Chimera._

Chris fought to keep the hate and disgust from her features as her stare bore into Jena's cold eyes. _She cannot know what I intend to do. I need to keep her distracted._

"I intend to sleep," Chris said, mimicking the imperious voice of the Chimera to the best of her ability. She had replayed the scene in the dungeon a hundred times in her head; the memory was flawless. "You are dismissed," she said to Jena.

The woman bowed respectfully, though Chris thought she saw the faintest glint of annoyance in her crooked smile. _There can be no doubts about the relation of master and servant between the Chimera and her._

She turned to Hugo, and found that the barbarian was watching her impatiently. "There are some more details to be discussed," she said, and strode past him into the corridor. "Follow me."

Footsteps echoed through the hall as Hugo followed and Jena walked the other way. Turning a corner and gliding through an open door, Chris walked into the middle of the room and turned to face Hugo as he crossed the threshold. "Close the door," she said.

Hugo frowned at her, but swung the door shut in a swift motion. It slammed against the frame, causing her to wince.

Chris relaxed, and massaged her neck. She let out a breath and nearly collapsed backwards into a chair, clutching at the armrests. "Be still," she said, and—sensing the barbarian's dark mood as he froze in mid-step—added, "Please." The word felt awkward to her.

She held her breath, and heard only her own heartbeat. Several seconds passed, and she chose not to meet his eyes as she waited. When the time had passed, she exhaled and nodded.

"Forgive me," she said. "I had to be certain that she would not attempt to listen in." _I know this manor better than anyone; there's no way to listen in on a conversation in the library without standing by the door, and you can't reach the door without causing the floor to creak—the sound runs through the floor into the library._

"Tell me why you're letting Jena walk away," Hugo said. His voice was tense with anger. He folded his arms over his chest—still naked, she noted, not without embarrassment—and glared at her. "Tell me."

Chris nodded. "Jena is working for the enemy; the woman who was instrumental to incarcerating me and, I believe, to the creation of the illusions we have witnessed as of late."

Hugo nodded slowly. "That woman's been pretending to be the Silver Maiden—you."

Chris frowned. "Yes. I have taken to thinking of her as the 'Chimera.' It is easier than 'that woman.'"

"That's why you made her think I'm an illusion. Because she thinks you're that woman, pretending to be you."

Chris nodded. "The illusions we have fought have been conjured of air, but she must also possess the ability to alter the appearance of others; as she did when I saw her. So, my intention is to pass you off as a thug disguised as… well, you."

Pacing across the room, Hugo snorted. "I don't like it."

Chris' heart sank. _Will he betray me?_ "Hugo; these people are responsible for all that has happened."

Hugo turned to face her, and raised an eyebrow. His face was dark. "All? No; that's not true. The burning of Karaya; that was you and your knights."

Chris clenched her fists, and stood. "This conflict, it is all her doing. If not for…" she sighed. She felt weary; much too tired to think. _Why hasn't he killed me? Why did he come for me? _She shook her head slightly, trying to shake the feeling of guilt—and a little voice that spoke nonsensical thoughts about his motivations.

She walked over to the door, and turned to face him. "I need to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow, when we are better rested." She hesitated, crushing the thought that she would never again be rested. "Please, Hugo. If we work together, we can end this conflict, no matter how it began."

Hugo's voice became brisk. "How? You still haven't answered my question."

Chris straightened up and met his fiery eyes. "I intend to replace the Council," she said.

**-Jena-**

Jena's mind raced as she undressed, piling her garments on the bed in the manor's master bedroom. Sealed before her arrival, the luxurious dwelling was without a doubt the finest living quarters she had stayed in, and the room had been kept in pristine condition by the Silver Maiden's butler until Jena had removed him. Now, the pristine bedspread was showered by moonlight as she prepared for rest.

_Could it be a coincidence? _she wondered as she neatly folded her dress on the bed. _Alron was taken away; the Silver Maiden must have escaped. However, Sarah—if that is her—claims that she dealt with the situation already, and that Alron was imprisoned as a result of his failure. If that is true, then the Silver Maiden is dead, and Sarah still wears the mask. Nothing strange there; she had already taken to wearing it around the hour before this._

Stretching out, she glanced at the moonlit window. _But why would Sarah linger in Vinay? She was supposed to have gone to Iksay. Was there truly a change of plans, or is that a bold lie?_ Jena stretched her neck, easing the tension from her joints._ Then there's the boy: the barbarian was with the Silver Maiden when we took her away. What does that mean? Sarah claims that the boy attempted to rescue the Silver Maiden—a claim too outrageous to be a lie—and says that she took care of them both. Now, she's having someone masquerade as the boy; why? It seems a viable scheme. Could it be a ruse?_

Frowning, she rolled up her socks and let them drop onto the bed. _No; it is plausible, if the rest is true. I do not believe in coincidences, _she thought. She had learned that lesson the hard way. _The most crucial question is this: if it is not Sarah, why am I still alive, and free? If she did escape, she would be wiser to leave Vinay, or try to appeal to the masses against the Council. Her behavior makes no sense. In addition, the Silver Maiden never struck me as particularly intelligent. I doubt if she would be able to orchestrate a ruse like this._

Jena sighed, silently cursing her lack of information. The guards in the dungeon had been less than forthcoming, and more than a little confused. They had been no help, and Alron had been taken away before she could speak with him.

Releasing her rigid braids, Jena shook her head to settle her hair about her shoulders. Sighing, she slipped beneath the warm blankets and shivered with contentment as she made herself comfortable. _Ultimately, I need Sarah's approval, or the Harmonian occupation of Zexen will be a catastrophe for me. If I'm wrong about my suspicions… No; I can't risk Sarah's wrath unless I'm sure._

Closing her eyes, Jena tried to calm her wild heart. _I need to speak with the Council, but I can't meet with them without a pretext, and if I'm wrong… They won't even listen to me unless I can prove to them, without a doubt, that my instinct is right. I have to speak with Alron_, she decided. _Should I sneak out tonight? No; the chances of discovery are too great. I can't risk acting without Sarah's sanction._

Mind racing with thoughts, Jena tried to find sleep. The strangest thought came over her.

_If the barbarian is an illusion… why wasn't he wearing a shirt? I wonder… Which is less likely; Sarah's still in Vinay, or the Silver Maiden has taken a barbarian boy for a lover?_

She could not say.

**-Hugo-**

Moonlight glinted off the blade in Hugo's hands. Holding the knife aloft, he studied Lulu's weapon as though its patterned-iron surface held the answer to his dilemma. Sitting cross-legged on the floor by the unused bed, he fought to reconcile the warring voices in his head. Lulu's voice was there, beckoning him to take revenge—a manifestation of his own guilt. _I have to kill her,_ he thought. _There's no way around it, after the oath I swore._

Then there were the other voices; a chorus of softer tones that tried to justify his current position. His mother's voice was distinct, supporting his choices and urging him to rethink his plans and avoid walking the same path she had in her youth. _That's easy for her to say; she didn't turn back. Even if she says it now… _He glared at the knife, and his thoughts turned. _She won't admit that I saved her. Does that mean that she didn't need me? Did I waste all that effort to come for her? Why _did _I come for her? _The answer to that question was hidden beneath a veil of absurd emotions; irrational thoughts that he dismissed as irrelevant to the situation. _She says she's got a way to stop the war. That's why I'm still here: the illusions seem to be trying to tear us apart. If she's right, then that is more important._ A twinge of guilt hit him. _More important than my best friend? Is it?_

Anxiously, he twirled the blade in his hand. Undecided, he took his rest.

**-?-**

Crickets chirped in the pale moonlight as he placed his claws against the stone and began to scale the wall. It was sheer, and formed from large slabs of stone, but his sharp claws easily found purchase in myriad handholds along its height. Tail swinging for balance, he ascended quickly and with ease.

Reaching the parapet, he heard the sound of a man yawning, and froze. Through the crenel he glimpsed a spear wagging towards him, and heard footfalls approach. A second passed to indecisiveness, and then he froze in place. His muddy scales were dull in the darkness, and the moon was hiding behind a stand of trees in the Zexen Forest, shielding him from view.

The footfalls came closer, and passed.

His muscles ached from the effort of hanging still on the parapet. In a single motion, he hoisted his body up and leapt over and onto the battlement.

Wood creaked under his feet. The man turned.

He drew his knife and clasped it in his clawed hand as he ran.

The Ironhead's mouth gaped open, and he fumbled with his spear.

—Too late. The knife cut through his throat.

The man made a gurgling sound and collapsed across his scaly shoulder as he leaned in. Sheathing his knife and hoisting the dead Ironhead, he grabbed the spear and leapt from the battlement onto a nearby house. The clay tiles clattered beneath his clawed feet, but he kept his balance.

The moon rose above the trees of the forest, as if to light the way.

Offering prayers to the Spirits, the Avenger swept into Vinay.

**-Chris-**

The sun produced a muted glow within the library as it fell on the thick curtains hanging from the eastward window. It was not enough to light up the room, but the stand lamp, close enough to warm Chris' elbow where she had leaned it against the table, provided enough light to read. The room was warm, but a pleasant breeze caused the curtains to flutter.

Hugo had remained silent since entering the room, and he now stood a step past the threshold, having closed the door behind him. He wore a blank expression, and the look on his face was inscrutable. He seemed hesitant to her, and as his eyes swept over row upon row of shelving laden with books, he seemed too preoccupied to really note their presence.

Chris sat in a chair with an open book resting in her lap. Unwilling to break the silence and release the charge that had been building in the air between them, she watched him, even as his eyes focused on everything but her. His hair was messy and unkempt, and the glistening of dried sweat upon his skin suggested that he was still in dire need of a bath. He had at least donned the wrinkled and dirty barbarian shirt he had worn when he came for her in the dungeon. _He seems tense, _she thought. _Or perhaps it is my own tension that I feel._

"You must get a lot of messages," he said. She flinched, and watched him trace the palm of his hand along the spine of a large tome before he turned his eyes on her.

"What?" she blurted out. The word came weak, and she hastily cleared her throat. She laid the book on the table and placed her hands on her lap.

Hugo turned his head. "This is all writing."

"Yes," Chris said. "But they are books, not messages."

Shrugging, Hugo yanked an old tome from the top shelf and split the pages with his open hand. "So what—"

Hissing, Chris shot up from her seat and came to his side, placing her hands on the book. "Be careful!"

The boy refused to relinquish his obstinate hold on the tome. He frowned at her, and said, "I was just looking!"

"Just looking? You were brutalizing that poor book!" Chris said. She jabbed a finger at him.

Hugo grunted. "You've got too many messages. No one could read all of these," he said, hefting the tome in his hands.

Chris reached out to catch his wrist. "Put that back," she commanded. "And as I said, these are not messages. They are books about all sorts of things."

"Like what?"

"Like rom…—um, roaming knights. History books, about our ancestors and events from the past. Theories about science and religion… And I _have _read _most _of them." She drew breath, and silenced. _Why did I add that?_

"Stories." Hugo nodded thoughtfully. "It's important to have stories." He placed the book back on its shelf, and turned to meet her eyes. "Don't you have someone to tell you the stories?"

Taken aback, Chris glared at him. _How can he speak so casually about these things when my heart is fluttering? He should be shouting at me! _She hesitated, uncertain of what to respond. "No," she said at last, admitting it as the truth. "But that is beside the—"

"My mother," Hugo interrupted, and waited a moment for her to silence. "My mother once told me a story about a man, a hunter, who set out alone across the plains to prove himself as the greatest hunter of his tribe, by felling a great white boar of legend. He faced all sorts of hardships on the plains, but in the end, he turned back not because he was out of strength or skill, but because he was lonely."

"Your storytelling skills need some polish," Chris remarked.

Hugo shrugged. "You've gathered so many people in your towns and cities that you've forgotten each others' faces. Instead of being alone, like the hunter, you lose yourself between each other. How could you have no one to tell you stories?"

Chris' blood boiled. "Because they…" She bit her lip. _Because they're all dead._ "I grew up alone," she said. _Alone, except for Prion. _She pushed the thought aside before it took root, saving her worry for when she had the time.

"What about all these people?" He made a sweeping gesture. "Don't they care? In Karaya, a child who lost her parents is raised by the tribe as a whole. In the other clans, it is the same. But not in Zexen."

"Enough!" Chris exclaimed. She tensed, feeling as though the boy had torn open a wound in her. "Cease this. Stop talking about things as though… as though we were friends." _Say what you mean._

"Friends," Hugo muttered. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "The hunter," he continued, "Returning home, found that being the most skilled hunter meant nothing if he had no one who would hear about his exploits; no one to share in his victories. In the end, he set out on his journey again, but he did not travel alone…"

The look on Hugo's face sent a chill down her spine. "Stop," she said stubbornly.

Hugo was silent for a second, and then mumbled, "He brought his best friend." His face sank, and a tortured expression came over his face as he squeezed his eyes shut and balled up his quivering hands into fists.

Chris swallowed, feeling helpless to deal with his emotions. _I have to say something. _"Hugo…"

He grinded his teeth as he spoke. "You killed my best friend," he said, echoing the words he had spoken as he climbed through her window. Somehow, the shock of seeing him there had not yet relented, and now that she had a chance to respond, her shame stole the words from her mouth.

His eyes remained closed. "Tell me one thing."

Chris silently drew air. Her chest felt like it was filled with stones. Slowly, she nodded.

Hugo's eyes shot open, filled with a burning fervor. "You said that woman, the Chimera, pretended to be you." She saw a slight hope build in his eyes; a futile wish. "Since when?" he asked.

Somehow, Chris found the strength not to waver under the intense glare. The question was unmistakable. _'Was she the one who killed my friend?' How easy it would be to lie, now._ Her mouth felt dry. "No," she said, her gaze flickering away from his face as she saw hope die in his eyes. "She was not the one who… killed your friend." She let her hand slide along the shelf to her side, and her fingers came away dusty—a grim reminder of Prion's absence.

"Hugo, I…" she began; her voice a mere whisper. "The attack on Karaya was not ordered by me," she said. "It was—"

"Who ordered it?" he growled, leaning in towards her.

"No one," she said. She shook her head and frowned. "It was not meant to be; it was a—"

"What?" he snapped. "What was it? A _mistake?_"

"Yes," she said. _It is my responsibility as a commander. I cannot shirk the blame. _"It was a mistake; a grievous one. Once I arrived at the scene, it was already—"

"How can you call it a mistake?" he demanded to know. He was shaking now, pressing closer to her with gritted teeth and balled fists.

Drawing a deep breath, Chris rose on her heels and stood her ground. "In war, these things happen. A sword strikes the wrong shield, an errant spark, and a flame is fanned…"

"You burnt a village filled with women and children! You slaughtered them! How can you talk of striking the wrong shield? What kind of swords are you knights armed with?!" he demanded. "You're all cowards!"

"You do not understand," she said icily. "You are still a child—"

"It was a child you _killed!_" he shouted.

Chris tensed, feeling the words twist in her heart like the blade of a dagger. "If I could have it undone…"

"But you _can't,_" he said. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought to control his voice. "When I left Vinay, Alron attacked me. I was used as a hostage, to deny my mother her honor, to deny the Karayans their pride on the battlefield. You should be _dead_, and yet… instead…"

Chris swallowed, leaning back against the bookshelf. The boy seemed at once menacing and vulnerable; a wounded beast, frightened and confused. Her heart reached out to him, but it was too hardened to comfort, too hurt to console.

"We have both been hurt by Alron!" she snapped. Then, she added, "It was not my wish to harm your friend. Besides, it was the Clans who broke the peace at the negotiations! The lizards attacked us! Those were no illusions!"

"Because someone had Chief Zepon assassinated! The _saraaks_ say you attacked the Great Hollow in person!"

Chris swept her arms at the air. "That _was _an illusion, and it is utter nonsense! Your mother was _with me_ all that time. She will _know _this!"

Scowling with renewed pride, Hugo wiped the tears from his cheeks and stood silent for several seconds. "Yes. But how can we trust—"

"Trust? Why should _we _trust you barbarians, after all that has happened?"

"Don't call us barbarians," Hugo hissed. "You're the savages, hiding in metal shells, letting your children rot in your streets!"

Chris glared at him. "Get off your high horse!"

"I don't even _have _a horse, you frigid cow!" he shouted.

Chris' mind worked with frenzied alacrity, sorting through his words even as she searched for an evocative insult. _If the lizards claim I assassinated Chief Zepon…_ "It is a figure of speech, you dirty barbarian!" Without losing a breath, she added, "Is Chief Zepon truly slain?"

"Yes!" he spat. "And you didn't even know?" He hesitated, taken aback by the twist of her words. "Don't call me a barbarian! …I'm not dirty!"

"You are covered in sweat, and you are half naked. I would surmise that you are a dirty barbarian," Chris said icily. She frowned, sinking into thought. "It cannot be a coincidence… The Chimera has a rune that allows her to assume my shape, and presumably others'. But to assassinate Chief Zepon…"

"Who is this woman?" Hugo asked. His voice had calmed somewhat, but a frown remained on his face.

"A Harmonian rune bearer. She would not tell me her name, but I believe Jena knows. They seem to be cooperating, somehow." _Somehow, I need to learn the Chimera's name. If Jena suspects me, she is unlikely to volunteer the information unless pressured into doing so. Worse yet, she might try to trick me into admitting my ignorance._

Hugo paused for several seconds before speaking. "Is this why you're staying with Jena?"

"She is _not _staying with me. She is an intruder. She has killed those who…" She shook her head. "Before I mete out justice, she has a role to play. I need her alive, for now."

Hugo frowned. "Are you sure this Harmonian woman is behind all of the illusions?"

"I believe so," Chris said. "I saw her at Brass Castle that day, before you… saved my squire." _Why is it so difficult to admit that? And there's more that needs to be admitted. _She glanced at him, and colored._ Curse this pride…_ She shook her head slightly, and paced around the floor. "She has been masquerading as me, and I believe I know her intentions, but I have a plan to turn recent events in my favor."

"Your favor?" Hugo spat. From behind, he reached out and took hold of her arm.

Chris turned and attempted to sweep his arm away, but once again she found that his strength was well beyond his years. His hand would not budge.

Unable to free herself without effort, she decided not to sacrifice her dignity to break loose. Hugo stared at her, gritting his teeth. "What about Lulu's favor?"

Chris raised her head to meet his wild eyes, and frowned. Her breathing felt labored as she struggled beneath the weight of her guilt. On the edge of tears, she held fast. Too proud to apologize and too tense to admit her guilt, she held it in and met his eyes. "Enough; it was a reaction. That is what it was; an act of self-defense. You are a warrior too; you should understand that there is no way to prevent such a conditioned response." She stood her ground and stiffened her back as his grip on her wrist hardened. _I thought I could control myself, even in the heat of battle, but I was wrong._

Gasping for air, Hugo raked his fingers through his hair and looked at her. "I swore an oath," he said.

Chris felt a chill. "What manner of oath?"

"I swore I would avenge him," he said. He reached behind his back and pulled a knife from its sheath. "I swore I would kill the person responsible for his death."

Chris' eyes widened as she took in the blade in his hand. His eyes seemed sharpened on the same whetstone; cold iron daggers stabbing at her. She felt the absence of her scabbard. Armed with a sword, she was more than a match for the boy, but without a weapon, she suspected that he would quickly get the upper hand, knife or no knife. _I've seen unarmed Karayans do some nasty things on the battlefield._

Stubbornly, she pushed her fear aside and grasped his arm, leaning in to challenge his sorrowful eyes. "What? You went through all of that trouble to get me out of the dungeon, just to kill me yourself? That makes no sense." _I hope it does not. He's a barbarian, and an unpredictable boy. _Chris clasped his arm in a furious grip, as though her fingers wrapped around his muscles would steady her shaking body. His arm tensed in her grip.

It seemed to her that they stood there in silence for a long time. Eventually, Hugo sighed. "Lulu's death was a _mistake_," he said. She felt his muscles relax, and he released her.

Chris almost stumbled back against the bookshelf, but steadied herself. He seemed calm now, and only the red streaks across his cheeks belied the composure of his straight back and steady grip. He reached back to sheathe the knife.

"I won't say I'm sorry," he said. "You deserve it."

Chris gritted her teeth, but held her tongue. _I shouldn't tempt fate, even if he's a pompous ass._ Heaving a sigh of relief, she leaned back against the shelf. She tried to mirror his composure, but did not believe she was successful. _How can he seem so calm, now?_ Guilt and sorrow were sliced through her mind, but the words that had been spoken had soured her desire to unburden her heart. Though silence had come, there was too much bad blood between them.

Sighing silently, Chris turned her thoughts to the matters at hand. _If only I could extract the information I want from Alron… _She knew that the scoundrel would say nothing more than he had without proper… techniques. _It is best to keep him locked up and out of the Council's sight while I align the pieces. However, Jena will no doubt seek Alron to find the truth. Even then, there is room for uncertainty on her part; my story still holds, although it is suspect. _She frowned. _I would feel better if Jena were unable to speak with him._ She turned her eyes on Hugo. "Can we trust Nash?" she asked. _Can I trust you? No; not yet._

"I don't know," Hugo said with a shrug, "But he doesn't seem to be working with the Council." He paused, and mumbled, "At least that doesn't seem to make sense."

"That is good enough," Chris said. Her eyes wandered over his clothes before she met his eyes again. "If you are to move about in Vinay, you will need proper garments. Follow me," she said. Without waiting for a reply, she walked past him towards the corridor.

Hugo turned, and hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Weren't we arguing?"

Right before the threshold, Chris turned to raise an eyebrow at him. "Why would we be arguing?"

**-Hugo-**

Hugo stood squinting against the sharp-edged shaft of light from the window, feeling the heat of the sun upon his wet hair as he struggled to button the cuffs of the stuffy shirt. Chris' back was turned, and she stood in the shadows near the corner of the room, as if frightened she might catch a glimpse of even an inch of skin. _The Ironheads are modest in strange ways, _Hugo though,_ but far too bold in other things. What an odd people._

He could not resist stealing glances at her where she stood in the pale light. Although she had neglected the usual complex braid at the back of her head, she had tied her hair into a pair of ponytails, one in the middle of the crown and the second laying lower, closer to the nape of her neck, where the tresses divided to spill over her shoulders on opposite sides. She seemed rigid, fussing over some pieces of parchment in a lacquered wooden box. The exercise seemed meant to give the illusion of preoccupation, but it seemed a farce to him.

Nothing had been said for a time. When the weight of their words grew too heavy, only silence remained between them, and Hugo struggled beneath that burden. The silence was unnerving, but Hugo could not muster the strength to break it, for fear that any meaningful words spoken might provoke a confrontation—and force him to make up his mind.

He was anxious about it, because somehow he felt that his wavering thoughts meant only that he could not accept the decision that he had already made. And, unconscious of what that decision was, he was afraid to see it through.

Hugo cursed the buttons on the shirt's cuffs in frustration. It was more than indecisiveness; he felt dazed and confused, and found it difficult to concentrate. Gritting his teeth, he pulled at the cloth to gain a better grip.

"I will assist you," Chris said. Suddenly, she was by his side, and Hugo almost recoiled as she took his wrist in her hand.

"I don't—" he began, but left the sentence unfinished when he saw her stern eyes questioning him. _By the True Runes; I can't let her get to me this easily! _He averted his eyes as her cold fingers reached around his arm to button the shirt over his wrist. _I'm pathetic. She's already seen me cry… What an embarrassment. _Flushing with color, Hugo glared at the windowsill and ran his fingers across the dusty surface as he tried to deal with the searing shame. _She didn't even seem to be ruffled, earlier. Doesn't this even upset her? _he wondered. His heart sank. _Now she's fussing over me like a mother. She can't have any respect for me._

"There," she said.

Hugo turned his head, and stared right into the depths of her large, violet eyes. For several seconds, they watched each other in silence. _She's too old, anyway,_ he thought suddenly.

Surprised, he pushed the thought away—firmly. He blinked, and tore his eyes from her face. _That's absurd. Where did that come from? _He ached with resurfacing guilt, but allowed the thoughts of Lulu's death in his mind, forcing himself to concentrate on the gruesome, hurtful images in a desperate attempt to summon some righteous anger.

Swallowing, Hugo nodded. He could not find the strength to say anything, and so he simply nodded. "Good," he said in a broken voice.

"Hugo," Chris said.

"What?" He slowly faced her, and saw that her features had hardened, as though she were willing the words into existence through great effort. His heart raced in anticipation.

"Thank you," she said. A few seconds passed, and then she added, "For rescuing me."

Hugo gasped for breath as a frisson of excitement passed through his body. He was shaking his head before his mind had processed the words, and he stumbled back and leaned against the windowsill, pretending that the act was casual. His cheeks flushed with color, and he grimaced. "You're… it wasn't, I mean… it was…" He could not find the proper words. "I wanted to do it," he blurted out, and instantly felt like a fool. _What does that mean?_

A small smile creased Chris' lips, and as the light washed over her face, she looked radiant. Hugo's heart skipped a beat, and he stood up straight. "I'm… going for a walk," he said. Without a word, he made for the door.

_I should kill her,_ he told himself as he left the room. _It should be easy; I should hate her._

It was not easy at all.

**-Adeline-**

The squawking of seagulls reached the Assembly Hall through tall windows with a view of Vinay's harbor. Outside, the gulls would be wheeling in the sky, pitching and banking to jockey for position over the scraps left behind by sailors and stevedores locked in the hectic pace of loading and unloading. Weaving through the masts of caravels and galleons, the gulls supplied the tune to which the waterfront moved, and their droppings littered wood and stone. There were times, Guild Delegate Adeline Tarnay thought, when she believed that the timeless dance of the gulls symbolized the Zexen Confederacy itself. Bleak thoughts for bleak times.

Bright sunlight streamed through the open windows, basking against half-drawn shutters and sending sharp-edged columns of light falling over the chamber's features while the rest remained in shadows. Light flooded the long table where the members of the Merchants' Guild sat crowded around a feast of food and drink, stopping just short of Adeline's position near the middle of the long end. Even the shadows were warm as a cook's cauldron, and she breathed listlessly.

She sat in silence, allowing the several dozen men around the table their chance to imitate the chatter of the gulls as each man tried to drown out the voices of the others. Adeline remained quiet, taking the time to contemplate her preferences: their words, or the squawking of the birds? Weary from a long, sleepless night, she cradled a glass of wine with cursory interest while pretending to heed the words of the obsequious man seated to her left. In spite of the butterflies in her stomach, she struggled to maintain a veneer of calm assurance.

Sighing inwardly, Adeline silenced the man at her side with a polite gesture and rose halfway from her seat. "Gentlemen, please," she said. She gazed coolly across the Assembly Hall while she waited for the discussion to die down. Their eyes fixed on her, and filled with doubt—or suspicion. _Not a good sign,_ she thought. She forced a small smile.

"I agree," she said, "That the matter of the salt tariffs in Alderedai demands the Guild's attention, but I submit that there's a more pressing, more important matter at hand. As I tried to impress on the agenda—"

"Yes, yes," Darbin said, breathing heavily as he dabbed his heat-stricken face with a cloth, "The matter of the Council. We all know your stance, Adeline." Some of the others chuckled.

Adeline let the comment slide, and smiled. _If I'm predictable, it's for a good reason, _she thought vehemently. "Indeed," she said, "The Council."

Exhaling slowly, she ignored the beading sweat on her forehead. The sun pressed on the roof, baking the Assembly Hall. Servants milled about the table in silence, depositing plates of food or removing half-eaten dishes from before the assemblymen. Some private servants were fanning their employers with feathered shrouds to keep them from the heat. Too proud for such extravagancies, Adeline felt as though her clothes were smoldering with the sun's rage. _Stubborn fool, _she thought, and could not decide whether she meant Darbin or herself. "I cannot be the only one who questions the wisdom of the _current _Council. Their failure to fulfill the wishes of the Guild's members … Their policies, which have gone beyond what is questionable, and their decisions which are harmful to not only to the Guild," she straightened her back and made a sweeping gesture, "But to Zexen as a whole!"

The room was silent. Adeline held her breath, and looked from face to face. They would not meet her eyes. Glancing to the side or into the table, the delegates chose to pretend as though they had heard nothing. The only one who returned her look was a curious man she had not seen before; a young blonde with a striped green scarf wrapped around his neck in spite of the heat.

The sultry air wore on her, exaggerating her frustration to its boiling point. She waited for someone to reply.

Finally, Irian sighed, wafting a hand at his flushed face in an undignified manner. "To return to matters at hand…" his eyes wandered from her to the others, "Let's discuss our stance on the tariffs. I fear this will affect relations beyond those we enjoy with Alderedai."

The assemblymen began to stir; they nodded with great interest as a discussion quickly sprang to life around the table. It was as though she were not there at all.

Mastering her anger, Adeline spoke up, "As a Guild Delegate, I have a duty to bring this matter to the Assembly's attention, and I see it as by far the most pressing at this time. Foreign customs policy _is _important," she admitted, "But without stability in Zexen, it means nothing."

Darbin scratched his neck irritably. His silks were sodden, and his pudgy hands and round face sheathed in sweat. "Please refrain from interrupting, Delegate. The agenda _has _been set," he said, leaning forward with a grunt, "And accordingly, we will discuss it in the fourth Quarter." A chorus of grunts marked the assemblymen's approval.

Adeline sat down with a frown on her face. _He couldn't have made his intentions clearer. _The fourth Quarter, following the last serving of food, was inevitably fruitless. With the assemblymen's bellies full of spirits, their gaiety would preclude serious discussion and tradition had thus dedicated the fourth Quarter to idle prattle and merry diversions. The small smile playing on Darbin's lips left her no doubt. _So, the setting of the agenda was deliberate… _She had hoped to be able to move the matter to the forefront, but now despaired.

Again, the blonde man's eyes met hers, but she quickly broke eye-contact. Though he seemed sympathetic to her cause, as a stranger he must have been either a newcomer without influence or a passive observer representing some guild proxy. He would be no help.

Adeline cast her gaze on the glass in her hand and watched the wine swirl as she spun it. The words exchanged between the assemblymen were lost on her as she sunk into thought. Reflexively, she wiped the sweat from her brow. _They have no intention of hearing me out. It's obvious now that the conservative faction has gained too much influence in recent years. _She lifted her eyes to look at selected assemblymen as her thoughts wandered. _Udemin, definitely, and perhaps Gend and Davon as well: those who are uncertain are unwilling to act for fear of the repercussions of choosing the weaker side. A strong figure could forge a rival faction out of them to match the conservatives, but they still view me as… a child. _She frowned, gripping the body of her glass fiercely. _If they saw me for what I am, I could easily direct them._ Sighing, she waved off a servant offering to refill her glass, where only the swill remained. _I'll speak with them in person, away from the influences of the Assembly. In private, I can make them understand._

"Adeline," a voice mumbled behind her.

She turned to see Farren—her aide—lean in to speak with her. "What is it?" she asked.

"The matter of the _Brass Mermaid _demands your attention. There's been… a new development."

Adeline felt her heart sink. The tense look in Farren's eyes told her that the news he brought were dire. "I… see," she hesitated, mastering her emotions. Drawing a deep breath, she rose from her seat and bowed her head at the assembly. "Pardon me; I must attend to some business."

The assemblymen paused to nod at her, and farewells were mumbled through the din of the discussion. To leave before the fourth Quarter was uncommon, but hardly rare enough to cause disgruntlement. Before turning to follow her, Farren bowed deeply at the table, and was met with a gracious nod from Darbin. Somewhat annoyed, Adeline motioned for her aide to hurry.

At the end of the table, chairs were being scuffled around as a man stood from his seat. It was the plump, clean-shaven Gattyn who stood, his prim clothes clamming to his sweaty skin. At his side, the blonde young man was leaning idly against his chair. For a moment, Adeline's eyes met with his, and she quirked an eyebrow.

His cryptic smile broadened, and he winked at her.

Adeline turned and marched out of the assembly hall, thoughts quickly shifting to other matters. The sun continued its assault with renewed vigor as she stepped outside, but the fresh sea breeze was a blessing to her skin. The smell of dried saltwater was palpable down at the waterfront, and seagulls were wheeling in the blue sky, squawking with tireless devotion. She squinted against the sun and watched the birds soar above.

_Bleak thoughts for bleak times, _she thought.

**-Jena-**

A pleasant breeze swept across the square, fanning Jena where she sat on a bench in the shadow cast by the Council Hall. Anxious and impatient, her eyes flickered across the square even as she pretended to busy herself with a basket of trinkets.

Finally, she saw the man she was waiting for round the corner of a building and cut across the square. She stood, and began to casually intercept him.

As the portly man approached, nearly waddling in his undignified stride, she saw that his face was flustered with heat, and he was breathing heavy from the effort of walking.

"Gattyn," she called out.

The man gave a start. "J-Jena…"

She smiled, but put no warmth in the gesture. "I have need of your assistance; I have a—"

"Forgive me," he said, scuffling to the side and passing, "I have to speak with the Council…" His eyes fell away from her.

Jena snorted, and stepped to the side, barring his way. "You have time to speak with me, first." She fixed her eyes on him, and glared.

Swallowing, Gattyn adjusted the collar of his sweat-soaked shirt. The bleak strands of his thinning hair were plastered against his face. _He looks very much like a drowned rat_, Jena thought. "Now," she said, lifting her glare, "I have a letter here…" She produced the rolled-up parchment and handed it to Gattyn, who reluctantly took it. "It should be delivered to a woman named Sarah, currently a camp follower in the contingent stationed near Iksay." _If I am right, that is._ "It must be delivered to her, and her only."

Gattyn nodded, fingering the letter with a look of thinly veiled distaste. "Very well," he said. Without another word, he tried to sweep past her.

Jena reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping the squirming man in his tracks. "Sir Alron has been imprisoned in the dungeons. I need to see him. You will arrange this."

Gattyn grimaced, but nodded. He pushed her arm aside, and half-ran into the Council Hall.

Jena sighed with relief. The message she had sent would be innocent enough even if it did not reach Sarah, but if it did… She would respond immediately, and Jena would know. _A swift messenger can reach Iksay in a day. Either way, two days from now, I will be sure._

Holding her basket against her waist, she smirked, and began to stroll across the square.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

The chapter I just finished turned out to be quite a bit longer than I'd expected, so I decided to cut it into three parts. The second part will be posted one week from now.

The "soriak" is the traditional Karayan dress worn by warriors.

The "assembly" referred to in Adeline's scenes is the "Customs Assembly;" an entity distinct from the council. From this humble merchants' organization created to lobby for lower tolls and customs grew the guild that eventually swallowed the Zexen Confederacy.

**Next Chapter:**

The web of deceit spins out of control as unexpected twists threaten to unravel Chris' carefully laid threads. Will the Silver Maiden be able to outwit her tormentor before it is too late? Will Hugo, faced with a difficult choice, stand by her side or turn against her to uphold his honor as a Clansman? Find out next time, in Blazing Waves, Burning Rain!


	13. Distrust

A woman of the Karaya, upon learning that she is with child, sets out to forge a weapon for her unborn son or daughter. She wills the Spirits of the Earth to fill the iron vessel, asking her ancestors to help watch over her child. Upon earning the _soriak_, the child is given the weapon, and becomes a warrior. Just as a child is protected by its mother, a warrior is guarded by the Spirits… and all mothers must eventually rejoin the Spirits.

-Sulduna, Karayan Elder  
Quoted in _Spirituality: a Discourse on Primitive Theology_, published in Sanadia, circa IS 389.

* * *

**-Percival-**

Even alone, Percival wore a practiced smile as he paced through the empty library. The rustle and clank of his greaves sounded with each step, and he turned on his heel when he reached the opposite end of the room.

An object caught his attention. Raising an eyebrow, he walked over to examine the sheathed sword placed upon the mantle over the cold hearth. The hilt was commonplace and without distinctive markings, but the blade was altogether different. Bronze details and blue cloth highlights, and a hilt wrapped in strips of black leather. The sword was mundane—intentionally austere, but the subtle markings on the cross-guard were unmistakable. _Why is this here?_

The sound of creaking floorboards reached him. Percival held his breath, hesitant to touch the sword even as his hand reached out for it. "This is…"

"…Mine," said a voice.

Hugo cut past him and grabbed the sword from its resting place, guarding it jealously against his chest.

The floorboards creaked again as Percival watched the boy with surprise. "The sword is _yours?_" he asked incredulously. Hugo frowned, but did not repeat himself. Dressed in the attire of a Zexen gentleman, the barbarian could almost pass for the owner of such a sword. _Had the sword been of Zexen origin!_

"I wouldn't be so rude as to touch another man's sword," Percival said, feeling somewhat insulted. Hugo said nothing, but watched him warily, like an animal cornered in his nest. Percival sighed. "If you don't wish to talk about it, let me say something else. I've seen you bicker with the Captain about what you think happened at Karaya—"

Hugo frowned. "Bicker? What's that supposed to mean? I know what happened at Karaya."

"No. You don't. You've misunderstood."

"Misunderstood?" Hugo asked with a snort. "She told me it was a 'mistake.' So tell me what I've misunderstood."

Percival felt the leather beneath his gauntlets as he clenched his fists at his sides. "Listen; she had nothing to do with the attack on Karaya, and nothing to do with taking you hostage. The Captain was with your mother when the lizards attacked the camp, and once she'd taken the reins on the situation, the attack had already begun. She didn't give the order. She didn't know about it. It was Alron who attacked Karaya."

Hugo's eyes widened. "But, why—"

Percival let out a small laugh. "Why didn't she tell you? Because the Captain is too proud to place the blame on someone else, even if it's a worm like Alron. She's the commander of the knights, after all. Even if it's stupid to think about it like that." He shrugged, and added, "It wasn't her fault."

Hugo "If that's true—"

The door opened, and the Captain stepped into the room. Hugo forgotten, Percival turned to face her with an awkward salute.

"At ease," she said, and nodded at the boy. _She looks tired, _he thought. _This is wearing her down, certain as grain on the millstone. _His heart sank. _…and the mill's not going to stop anytime soon. _Smiling despite his unease, Percival walked over to stand by the doorway. It felt better, that way.

**-Chris-**

Blinking to clear her bleary eyes, Chris sat down in one of the library's cushioned chair. Her eyes lingered on Hugo as the barbarian took his seat, cradling his father's sword in his hands. There was a stiffness in the way he held himself, but she could not say whether it was tension or lack of familiarity with the luxurious furniture. His eyes were intent on her as she glanced over his clothes, lingering on his features in the city attire. _Yes, _she thought, idly tracing her finger around her ear as she reclined, _he can play the part._

Breaking her stare, she noticed his wrists. "You are still wearing those…" She gestured vaguely, beckoning for him to fill in the word.

"They're warrior bracelets," he said. He shifted his position uncomfortably, glancing at Percival, and then back at her. "I won't take them off." His face set in a stubborn expression.

Chris sighed inwardly. "I am not sure that is wise. Vinayans may be remarkably ignorant of barbarian customs…" she quickly corrected herself; "That is… Grasslander customs." She hesitated for a moment, smoothing her breeches before continuing. "But it is still feasible that someone will recognize your... adornments… for what they are."

Hugo shrugged, placing his sword on the table to his side—after giving Percival a suspicious glance. He sat up straight and folded his arms over his chest. "I'll take my chances."

Chris held her tongue as she heard footsteps in the corridor. She turned to watch the door.

"I don't see why I'd be running about the city, anyway," Hugo said.

The door swung open, and Nash stepped into the room with a look at Hugo as the boy finished speaking. "Oh, it's quite a lovely little city, really. Charming, and quaint." He cast a smile at Percival, and the knight returned a smirk. Swaggering over to a chair, Nash sat down. "And the women are captivating," he grinned at Hugo.

"Not really," the boy said, shifting uncomfortably.

Nash chuckled, and as his eyes turned on Chris, his mirth turned to a predatory smile.

"I must confess; I do not yet have reason to trust you," she said. Nash leaned back into the chair, putting one leg above the other. He seemed completely confident—effortlessly at ease. _He does seem the dauntless type, _she thought._ How much of it is an act?_

"You know I'm not working for your enemy," he said. He wore a smug look on his face, and his eyes roamed the library casually, as though taking in the sights.

"Who _is _my enemy?" she wondered.

Nash smiled. "Not I," he said. Standing up, he tapped a gloved finger at his nose. "Like I said, my employer is curious to know what is going on in this region. It does not lie in his interest to promote chaos and anarchy in the Zexen Confederacy. That's where I come in."

"Your employer is Harmonian," Chris stated.

Nash smiled, but said nothing.

Chris clasped her hands over her lap, and frowned. _How could I trust this man? He has too many secrets. _She glanced at Hugo, but quickly turned her eyes back on Nash when the boy met her gaze. _With Hugo, I know where I stand, even though we both seem to be as confused as a pair of headless hens._ "How can I be sure," she asked, "That you are not a spy sent to gather military intelligence in order to spearhead a Harmonian invasion? A Harmonian army is currently marching towards Zexen territory."

Nash shrugged. He paced around his chair, and placed his hands on its back. "You cannot," he said with a roguish smile. "But if I were… what would I gain by helping to liberate Zexen's most beloved and successful military commander?"

Chris sighed. "Foolish flattery aside," she said, casting a dark look at him, "Your argument is persuasive."

Idly nodding, Nash leaned against the chair, and slid back into his seat.

Hugo cleared his throat before speaking. "Nash has been true to his word, so far. I don't know if he can be trusted…" he glanced at the man, who returned a warm smile, "But I don't think we've got much of a choice. Even if he's a spy for the Harmonians…" Hugo hesitated, and glanced between the three others present. He seemed uncertain, for some reason.

"Yes?" Chris urged.

Hugo shrugged, and squirmed in his seat. "Even if he's a spy, there's not much we can do. I think it's better to just cooperate with him."

Metal links rustled as Percival stood up from his position against the wall. "Unfortunately, I have to agree."

Chris nodded to herself. _Yes; my assessment, as well. If he is a spy, I will need to deal with him eventually, but right now… Right now, Harmonia is the secondary threat. _She sighed. _I wish I had Salome's counsel to guide me._

"Unfortunately…?" Nash asked, feigning hurt.

Percival merely smirked, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.

"Now," Chris said, "I have sent Jena on an errand. She will be busy for a time, and we are free to discuss matters at hand."

Hugo leapt at the chance. "If you want to replace the Council, why don't we just strike, right now?"

Nash chuckled. The boy cast an annoyed glance at him.

"Matters of politics are not quite as simple in Vinay as they are… in the Grasslands," Chris said. _They are barbarians, after all; no matter how convenient it would be at this time to simply use the sword._

Hugo grunted. "If something's rotten, you throw it out."

Chris shook her head. She leaned slightly forward in her chair and fixed her eyes on Hugo as she spoke, "Removing the legitimate authority without a legitimate _replacement _could trigger internal strife that could threaten to divide Zexen. Such chaos would be harmful to the people; not to mention that it would hamper our efforts to defend against…" she glanced at Nash, "An invasion." The man showed no sign of reaction. He rested his cheek on his fist, and the small smile on his face did not waver.

"It's true;" Hugo said with a frown, "A succession of chieftains is usually bloody, but sometimes it's what has to happen."

Chris placed her hands on her knees. "In this instance, it has to be done the correct way."

"Forgive me, Captain," Percival said, "But how _will _we fight Harmonia, if it comes to an invasion?" His eyes rested on Nash as he spoke, but the man seemed not to notice.

Chris glanced at Hugo, and then Nash. _It seems I am forced to place my trust in those I _cannot_ trust._ She drew a deep breath. "The Council likely intends to ally Zexen with Harmonia against the Clans."

Hugo snorted, and shot her a defiant look. "They'd leap at the opportunity to crush the Clans. Even better if they don't have to face us honorably."

Chris stiffened, but swallowed her retort. "I believe," she continued, "They will accept suzerainty under Harmonia. However, _we_ will not involve the people of Zexen. We Knights will go our own path, and the new Council will do what needs to be done."

Nash's face lit up with curiosity, and he leaned forward in his seat.

Percival walked towards them. "Captain…" He frowned. "How can we rebuke an invasion without the support of our people?"

Chris raised her head to look up at him. "With the right people on the Council, it is possible. I have already set events in motion to this end, but we will need an ally; someone who can lend legitimacy to the new regime yet serves our interests."

"The Council will try to prevent that," Hugo said, "But they cannot be aware of their people as a chieftain is. Can they stop it?"

Chris looked at her hands before answering. "There is a risk. Jena will no doubt have sent a messenger to verify the location of the Chimera. She does not trust me, but she will need proof before acting. I will need to act before this messenger returns."

Nash cocked his head. "You don't know where the Chimera is. What if we have this messenger followed?"

Hugo's face lit up. "We could make sure that the message never reached her. That way, Jena would assume that you really _are _her."

Chris nodded. "That would be advantageous. However, we do not have the resources to prevent her from sending a message—or several messages. Were it I, I would be paranoid in my precautions. Besides, there are more pressing matters at hand. Jena will not sit idle; she will attempt to unmask me at every turn." _I've even considered using the Hunter Runes we obtained from the foreign assassins, but the risk is too great._

Percival cleared his throat. "Captain… Why won't you just detain her?"

"No," she snapped. She shook her head irritably, and drew a deep breath to focus her thoughts. "I need Jena to lend legitimacy to what I am attempting to do. This is the role she must play, even if it is risky." _Even if I hate it._

There was silence. Hugo and Nash glanced at each other.

"Regardless of where the Chimera is now, she is clearly not in the vicinity of Vinay. We have time," Chris said. _Will it be enough? _She clasped her hands over her lap. "I believe that Jena's first move will be to speak with the Council, or Alron."

Percival took a step forward. "Forgive me, Captain, but I have some matters to attend to."

Chris bowed her head at him. "Of course."

Percival bowed, and quickly turned to leave the room to the tune of clanking armor. The floorboards outside creaked with each step. Nash watched the knight until the door closed behind him. Then his eyes snapped back to Chris. He leaned against the armrest and glanced between her and Hugo as he spoke. "So. You two seem to be getting along… swimmingly."

Chris glanced at Hugo, and their eyes met for a moment. The barbarian shrugged, mimicking her confusion. _Why the sudden interest? _She looked back at Nash, and saw that he wore a satisfied smirk. She shrugged. "In spite of our differences, we are both mature enough to cooperate."

Nash grinned. "Oh, yes; quite mature." He leaned over towards Hugo and gave the boy a meaningful glance before letting his eyes roam over Chris. "Some more than others."

Hugo's cheeks spotted with color, and his eyes jerked away from her. "I…" he started.

Nash watched the boy with great curiosity. "Yes?"

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Am I missing something?"

"No!" Hugo exclaimed heatedly. Flashing a grin, he gestured dismissively. "No, there is nothing. I mean… there is nothing to miss."

"I beg to differ," Nash murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "Either way, I'm sure you two will be… cooperating… to _great_ satisfaction."

Hugo's gave a start, and his cheeks blossomed with even more color. "I am sure we will be," Chris said. Hugo looked like he was about to choke. At his side, Nash wore an exceedingly smug expression. Worried, Chris rose from her seat. "Are you well, Hugo?"

"I'm fine!" he said, standing up quickly. Flustered, he avoided her eyes. Chris creased her forehead. Unconvinced, she studied his features for sign of illness. Hugo drew a sharp breath, and pushed her hands aside gently. "I said I'm fine."

For a moment, they stood looking into each other eyes, hands still touching. "Very well," she said, taking a step back. She idly fussed with the hem of her shirt. _Why should I be so concerned, anyway?_

"I could do this all day," Nash drawled.

"I could not," Chris said, turning to face him. "Did you do what I asked you to?"

Nash slipped out of his seat, and with a groan, he stood up so that the three of them were huddled together conspiratorially in the library's middle. Chris casually backed away from him. "I did. I watched the Customs Assembly, like you wanted me to." His lips curled into a broad smile, and he seemed to place overmuch emphasis on the word 'wanted.'

"…and?" Chris asked. Her heart quickened.

"I think you're right about that woman."

Chris could not help but to smile. "I see." _There is yet time._ "I am going to pay a visit to an old friend. You know what to do."

Nash nodded, and stepped out of her way. She started towards the door, but glanced back at Hugo and raised an eyebrow. "Are you coming?"

Hugo hid a look of surprise before nodding. The sheath rasped against the table as he pulled his sword from its resting place. Without a word, he followed her.

Nash chuckled. "Introducing him to your friends, already?"

Chris turned her cold eyes on the man. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said.

She could hear him chuckling as she left the room.

**-Nash-**

The tavern's atmosphere was lively and boisterous, and loud voices battled with the sultry singing of a dancing girl on the small stage to the side of the room. The chamber vibrated with the pace of clapping hands and feet. Nash leaned in against the table as he spoke, cradling a mug of ale in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. "No, it's true, I swear!" he said, "The Silver Maiden's been put into the dungeon by the Council!"

"What?!" a rowdy man exclaimed. "You lie!" said another.

Nash shook his head. "I wish I were, my friends!" He feigned outrage. Glancing at the nearly empty pitcher, he called out to a serving wench to refill the ale, eliciting a cheer from his new friends. As much as he preferred peace and quiet to this racket, he was glad to have gotten out of Chris and Hugo's way. _That tension's so thick, you could cut it with a knife,_ he thought. _Does she realize how she looks at him?_

"Where'd you hear this?" a stocky, balding man wondered.

Nash wagged his finger excitedly and nodded. "I know a man works with the Council, I do. They called her in there and they were talking about having her flogged, he says!"

"Flogged?!" they roared as one. Several of the men rose halfway from their seats, and curses were uttered. "You sure 'bout this?" a red-faced, mustached man asked.

Nash nodded vigorously. "Sure as eggs is eggs!"

"Those bastards… How dare they?!"

"They should be the ones getting flogged!" another man exclaimed, slamming his mug onto the table so that the ale splashed over his hand.

"You said it, Gandran!" another man said.

Nash put a deep frown on his face as he spoke, "They're traitors to Zexen; that's what they are. They're overstepping their boundaries; that's what they're doing." _These people certainly love their Silver Maiden,_ he thought. _I wonder if there's more than tension between her and the boy. If the commoners get this riled about the rumor of a flogging, they'd probably take my head off if I suggested that their precious heroine had been taken by a Grasslander._

"We should…" a particularly drunken man said, burping, "We should bust her out!"

"Yes!" a cheer rose from the assembled men.

Nash shook his head, "No, my comrades. Tonight the ale has sapped our strength; we shouldn't rush. Instead begin spreading the truth; make sure people realize what's going on."

The men muttered amongst each other, nodding slowly. "You're right," one of them said.

Nash nodded, and downed the remaining ale in his mug before setting it down. "We patriots have to stick together."

A cheer rose from the table.

**-Hugo-**

Chris halted suddenly just as they passed from the alley to the adjoining cobblestone street and put a hand on Hugo's shoulder. He glanced back at her. "What's wrong?"

Chris brushed dirt from her breeches and coat, and tried to wipe the filth from her tall leather boots. They had taken to the back streets and dark alleys, in an attempt to avoid recognition as they made their way across the city. Glancing to the side, Chris pointed casually towards a building on the other side of the street, atop a small hill. It was a large house, its timber walls ridden with vines and tall bushes from a somewhat overgrown garden. "That is Tarnay Manor," Chris said, "Adeline's home. However…" She nodded at the manor's gates, where a coach drawn by a pair of tan geldings had just stopped. A small group of people clad in Guild livery were spilling out of the coach, escorted by several guardsmen who hopped down from their positions on the sides of the carriage.

Hugo instinctively leaned in against the mouth of the alley and glanced in the direction of the group as they began to pull the gates open. They were distant, but the street was sparsely populated and it seemed likely that they might be seen. "Are they from the Council?"

Chris stepped closer, and avoided looking at the street. "That is Head Councilor Rean's emblem on the side of the coach."

Hugo turned his head to look at her, and found that her face was uncomfortably close. He shrank away against the wall, but could not help but draw in her lavender scent. "Could…" He breathed deeply, and averted his eyes. "Could they have business with her?"

"I very much doubt it," Chris said, just as a fat man dressed in opulent clothes descended from the coach. Her face took on a grim look, and she clasped her hand around the hilt at her hip. "Let us go." She started across the street.

On a whim, Hugo stepped forward and slapped his hand against her bottom.

Chris squealed, and turned on him with a furious expression. Her cheeks were blooming with color and her sword was halfway from its sheath. "What are you doing?!" she hissed.

Hugo folded his arms over his chest and gave her a disapproving look. "Please tell me you've got a plan." _So, she's not all ice. Spirits! Did I just slap her ass? _It had seemed the best way to get her attention a moment ago, but with the moment past, he was not so sure.

She gaped, slid the sword back, and mimicked his stance. "Of course I do. We will subdue them."

Hugo gave her a baffled look. "Spirits! And you're saying _I'm _the barbarian? Break that nonsense; we're sneaking in." Without waiting for acceptance, he began to walk across the street, weaving his way through the citizens strolling across the cobblestone path.

"Wait just a minute," Chris called out behind him. A few quick steps, and then she grabbed his shoulder. "You can't just—"

Hugo turned to face her—

—Just in time to see a small girl run into the woman and stumble onto the ground. "Eek!" The girl puffed her cheeks and winced, rubbing at her scuffled knees.

Hugo gaped, and reached down to shield the girl. "Don't hurt her!" he said, pleading with Chris.

Chris looked puzzled. "What?" She knelt down and smiled at the girl. "Are you well, dear?"

The girl nodded nervously, burying her face in her skirts. _She's got to be three or four years old_, Hugo thought. He watched anxiously as Chris smiled at the girl, soothing her.

In a moment, the girl was on her way, and Hugo heaved a sigh of relief.

Chris glanced at the manor and the men approaching its doors, then looked to Hugo and sighed. She started across the street towards the side of the building. Hugo followed.

"What was that about?" she asked as they snuck through a tall hedge blooming with crimson flowers and into the back of the garden.

"I was told that Zexen children get their fingers cut off if they don't stay out of the adults' way," he said hotly.

Chris stared at him for about five seconds. Then she slapped him. Soundly.

Rubbing at his stinging cheek, Hugo glared at her as the ringing in his ears died down. "What was that for?"

"A number of things. Do not worry; you have earned it." She turned her eyes on the manor. "Now; how do we get inside?"

Hugo mastered his simmering rage. _You've earned a lot more than a slap on the ass. _For some reason, the thought embarrassed him.Reluctantly, he stopped staring at Chris' bottom and looked up at the vine-covered wall. A faint light burned in a second story window. There it was again: that odd sensation of wrongness that had been growing in him since they left Chris' home. It was plucking at his nerves, and calling to his mind. He pushed it down. "Easy," he said with a shrug. "We'll climb."

**-Adeline-**

Adeline's fingers tapped rhythmically against the hollow wooden desk as she studied the numbers in the ledger. Candlelight mixed with sunlight from the window to illuminate the writing. _Negatives, _she thought with a sigh. _When did these numbers take hold of our society? _Frustrated, she stood and pushed the chair against the desk to walk across the room to a shelf stacked with books. She stood on her toes to reach a leather-bound volume, but before her fingers could grasp it, Farren was by her side.

Without stretching, the tall man plucked the book from its position and deposited it in her hands. "There," he said. He was close, and the sheath of his sword bumped against her leg.

Feeling a bit flustered, she smiled warmly as she pulled the book to her chest. "Thank you." Turning to place it upon the nearby table, she sighed. "I don't know how we'll manage. Losing the _Brass Mermaid _was ill fortune, but with the creditors calling in their investment in the caravel…" She shook her head and turned to watch him, arms folded. He stood in silence, watching her. "But…" She drew a deep breath, and forced a smile, "We'll manage." Thoughtfully, she tapped at the book's cover before walking over to her desk. "I haven't come this far only to prove my detractors right," she said with a smirk. Rifling through the pages of the ledger, she focused her thoughts.

"I don't think the petition is a good idea," Farren said. He walked calmly over to where she stood.

Adeline turned to face him. "It's the only way. If the Customs Assembly won't act, the petition is the only way to remove the Council before it's too late."

"You have much to handle at once," he said. Too much, he seemed to say.

She sniffed playfully as she rolled her eyes at him. "The creditors will be as wet clay in my hands; we'll have a new ship in no time, and then we can start rebuilding my empire," she said with a giggle. Shielding her lips behind lacquered nails, she shook her head to clear the silly thoughts from her mind. "We'll manage it together, you and I. You've been a great help since…" She let her voice trail off, and sighed.

Farren hesitated, and then frowned. "I've tried to be a suitable replacement for Narven."

"You've been doing well," she said.

Slowly, he paced over to the door, and held his step on the threshold. "Is there any way I can convince you to abandon your attempt to remove the Council?"

Adeline looked at him in surprise. _Why this sudden resistance?_ "No," she said, a bit more stubbornly than necessary.

Farren stared at her with a sad expression in his eyes, and then turned to face the stairs outside of the room. "It's time," he called out, so that his voice echoed throughout the old halls.

Adeline felt her blood chill in her veins, and she started towards him even as she heard footsteps crash up the stairs. "What have you done, Farren?" she asked, feeling short of breath.

Her assistant stepped aside to look at her with disappointment as a group of men scaled the stairs and ran into the room. Fanning out, guardsmen with their hands on sheathed swords paved the way for several men wearing Guild livery—Council Hall officials. Heavy breathing came from the stairs as the last man pulled himself up by the railing.

Dabbing sweat from his cheeks and forehead with a sodden rag, Gattyn stepped into the room. His eyes fixed on her. "Ah, there you are," he said, seemingly breathless from the effort of climbing the stairs.

Adeline's eyes widened in shock, and she glared at Gattyn, refusing to even look at her assistant. "What is the meaning of this? How _dare _you lead armed men into _my house _without my permission? Should I assume that this is a robbery?" She straightened her back imperiously as she spoke.

Gattyn shrank away slightly, running a hand through his thinning hair as he let out a slimy chuckle. "Oh, I'm afraid that this house belongs to Head Councilor Rean, now…"

Adeline froze, mouth gaping open. "What?"

"Here…" Gattyn muttered, pushing his way past the surprised guardsmen to hold out an unrolled parchment to her. She saw Rean's wax sigil affixed to the paper even before she snatched it from his hands to scan the content.

"As you can see, the Head Councilor has seen fit to purchase your letters of credit, and he's calling them in. All of them." Gattyn smiled, tapping his fingers against his straining belt as he seemed to swell with pride—and gloating.

Adeline felt sweat beading on her forehead as she read the document. _He's right. I'm nowhere near solvent… With a few more days, I could have raised the money. How did he…_ An immense feeling of betrayal wrenched her stomach, and she bared her fangs in rage as she turned her eyes on Farren. "You sold me out," she hissed.

Her assistant flinched, but did not show any expression. "You're too proud. You must realize your limitations," he said. "Your 'empire' is crumbling. You were never fit to handle your father's business; Narven's tireless devotion is the only reason you're still in business. Do not force me to use my sword, Adeline." The last part was spoken in a low voice.

Adeline's heart quickened with fury, and she fought to control the feelings of hurt and betrayal. The document crunched in her fist. "It appears," she said, mastering the tone of her voice, "That you know nothing. I was a fool to employ an idiot."

Farren's face twisted in anger. Gattyn chuckled, walking over to sit down. Her favorite chair creaked under his weight, and he leaned back. "Now, now… There's no need to get emotional about this. Rean is not an unreasonable man, nor a cruel one. You're welcome to stay on as a maid, or whatever position of servitude you might prefer." She thought she saw a predatory glint in his eyes. "We wouldn't turn you out on the street, after all."

Farren walked up towards her. "I would not be so cold, Adeline. There's a much more comfortable position for you, if you will accept me," he said. He reached out to take her hand.

She pushed him away, and slapped him across the cheek with all of her might.

He tumbled backwards in shock, and fell onto his knees. The guards moved to restrain her, grasping her arms painfully. She tried to resist, but they were far too strong. "Release me," she hissed.

Silently, Farren stood, and sneered at her as he rubbed his cheek. She swallowed as he walked towards her with a dark expression, and braced herself.

The blow caused the world to spin around her.

"Enough!" Gattyn said. "As I said," he intoned, "The Head Councilor is not a cruel man. Besides, I am sure she will see reason, in time. Women are sensible creatures, once their delusions are dealt with." Through the haze of her spinning vision, she saw his lips spread in a patronizing smile.

Farren snorted as he walked away from her. His hand grasped at the hilt of his sword.

Adeline fought the tears, and tried to still the thunder in her head.

She heard a noise from the window, and then a firm voice, "Release her."

She turned her head, and gasped.

**-Chris-**

"Christina!" Adeline breathed.

Chris took in the sight before her with a building anger, and she channeled it into a cold focus. Having boosted her into the room, Hugo leapt through the window just as a symphony of sliding steel filled the room as all involved drew their weapons.

"Who are you?" a tall man demanded. A crimson handprint blossomed on his cheek; a blow far more powerful than that which Chris had given to Hugo a minute ago.

Chris glanced at Hugo, and found that his face was locked in a grim expression as he unlimbered his twin knives and held them out before him. The guardsmen were encircling the two of them. "Just a couple of cat burglars," she said icily.

The fat man in the chair scoffed, watching them with a mixture of outrage and astonishment. "Seize them!"

The tall man advanced on Chris. "I should warn you," he said with a confident smile, "I'm quite the swordsman."

Hugo barked a laugh, and the sound spurred Chris' own confidence. She rolled the hilt of her blade and smiled innocently. "Really? Perhaps I will learn something."

Adeline laughed, but the sound was broken by a burst of coughs. "You've met your match, Farren," she said with scorn in her voice. The man—Farren—glanced momentarily at Adeline.

"He's all yours," Hugo said, passing behind Chris. She heard a crash as something was hurled towards the guardsmen, but she fixed her eyes on the swordsman who circled her, looking for an opening. He clearly struggled for the same focus, and the smirk ran away from his lips. He began to look nervous.

Crashes and shouts rang out behind her. She ignored them. Hugo's grunts punctuated the clang of blades. Farren glanced to the side.

Chris lunged and thrust her blade forward. Farren dodged at the last moment, and his sword slammed down on hers. Their weapons met with a clang. She lowered her blade and slashed across his stomach. He hissed as the edge drew blood, and he stumbled back. Clutching at his shallow wound, he pulled his sword up to parry. Her attack, aimed at his throat, met steel instead.

Chris eased up, and allowed him to scramble back against the wall. She snorted. "Quite the swordsman? Who was your teacher?" she asked. Someone screamed behind her as a piece of furniture broke.

Farren grimaced, but managed a half-hearted look of defiance. "Master Majon."

Chris shrugged. "I have never heard of such a 'master.' You had best surrender before I take your head off." She flicked her blade to the side, whipping blood onto the floorboards.

"Let's get out of here!" one of the guardsmen shouted, and she heard a string of curses and murmurs from the doorway as several men tried to leave the room all at once.

The sleeve of Farren's coat came away covered with blood as he stood up straight, clutching his wound with his free hand. "I'm not done yet," he breathed.

Chris snorted. She took up a defensive pose, and waited.

He lunged, and feigned an attack. Seeing the ruse, she took a step forward. Farren raised his arm to deliver a slash at her throat.

He was too close. Stepping in, she reversed her grip and slammed the pommel against his nose. His sword clattered against the floor. Groaning with pain, he stumbled back and fell on his bottom, displacing a richly embroidered rug. A mighty crash came from behind.

Chris walked over and placed her sword at his throat as he sat up. "Surrender," she said.

"Who…" he mumbled, "Who was your teacher?"

"Sir Galahad," she said.

Farren blinked, and his eyes went wide as realization dawned on him. "You're… You're the Silver Maiden!" he exclaimed.

Hugo appeared from behind him with a grunt. "I don't think she likes that name," he said. In a single motion, he reached down and landed a stunning blow against the back of the man's neck.

Chris met Hugo's eyes. The boy's clothes were torn and ruffled, his hair was a mess, and he had several cuts and scrapes on his cheek and shoulders. She turned to see a room in chaos; furniture upended or broken into pieces, with an overturned cabinet spilling a host of small objects across the floor. Adeline was standing wide-eyed, chest heaving, over an unconscious fat man collapsed onto the floor over the scattered pieces of a broken chair.

"Christina, is it really you…?" Adeline breathed.

Chris nodded. "We need to talk," she said, forcing a smile. "But first I will need to stop the…"

Hugo was already out the window, leaping down into the garden. Chris grimaced, and ran over to the opening. Hugo looked up at her from the flagstone walk below, beckoning for her to leap. _This is insane, _she thought. _How could I trust him?_

But she did. Adeline gasped behind her as she leapt through the window, and the sensation of falling sent a frisson of fearful excitement through her body. She felt something tug at her, and saw a pale green light envelop Hugo as he raised his hand. The winds enveloped her, and slowed her fall. She fell straight into his arms.

Swallowing, Chris looked up at his eyes. A moment passed, and then she found her feet as his arms left her back. She glanced up to see Adeline leaning out of the window, but there was no time to speak. She heard horses whinny from around the corner. She ran.

The courtyard was in chaos as onlookers stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle. Several of the Council officials were pushing at each other to enter the coach, while a guardsman—who must have remained outside—climbed into the driver's seat. He was flicking the reins even before the door closed on his passengers, and the horses reared into motion.

Chris felt more than saw Hugo pass her. She was running full bore, but he was quicker. He leapt over a low hedge and stumbled back on his feet and onto the street. Intercepting the horses, he began to shout and wave his arms. Spooked, the animals reared and threw the coach off course, halting it for a moment. Chris took the opportunity.

Sprinting, she leapt against the coach and grabbed a handrail on its side. Holding tightly, she was jerked around as the carriage resumed its course. Her head slammed into the coach door before she caught her balance, and her head rang with the pain.

Hugo shouted, and she saw him thrown aside. The driver beckoned the horses with his voice as he slapped the reins against their hides again and again, setting a reckless pace through the streets. Chris turned and reached out her arm towards Hugo. He scrambled to his feet, and ran to her. He threw out his arm, and their hands passed inches from each other.

Then the coach was past. Chris' eyes widened, and she gritted her teeth. He sprinted in the coach's wake, but its speed was jarring, sending Chris bobbing uncomfortably as it rushed across cobblestones.

Suddenly, the coach swerved, and citizens scrambled out of its way as the side of the carriage raced up against a tavern's wall. Chris rolled to the side and ducked, just in time to see a shingle pass over her head. Frustrated, she held onto the handrail and cursed.

Hugo had given her a chance. She could not squander it.

**-Hugo-**

As soon as the coach turned in on the side street, Hugo ran for the nearest alley. Leaping and climbing across boxes stacked against the wall, he reached for a wooden drainage and activated his Wind Rune. Letting the currents lift him, he was boosted within reach of the building's edge and grabbed hold. Within moments, he was on the roof, and running across unsure clay tiles.

Hugo stayed on the edge, using the magic of his Wind Rune to guard against a fall as he tried to plot the course of the coach's wild ride through the streets of Vinay. It left confusion and agitation in its wake, as merchants' stalls were knocked over and people scrambled to avoid bodily harm. _I have to find a place where I can stop it, _he thought. _Otherwise, Chris will…_ He abandoned the train of thought.

Just as he leapt from one roof to another, Hugo stopped. A stray tile loosened from its position and slid down the roof, cracking against the street below. Something felt awry. It was the same sense of wrongness that he had noticed before… but it was stronger, now. In a flash, Hugo realized what it was.

_The Spirits!_ He clambered onto the building's apex and looked around. _There's a disturbance among the spirits in Vinay… It's so obvious, now… I guess it's because I've grown used to how muted their voices are in the city. Now, they're vibrant…_ He scanned the rooftop scenery, and his eyes fell on... something scaly.

Scrambling down the side of the roof, Hugo made his way across several buildings before he hopped onto a low house with a flat roof. Right upon the roof, a _saraak _was splayed out, wagging its tail lazily as the sunlight basked upon him. Its scales were caked with mud and sheathed in grime, but the figure was unmistakable. A dead body was sprawled out unnaturally at its side.

The Clansman roused as Hugo approached, and raised a broad-bladed knife the size of a short sword. Its eyes fixed on him, but it hesitated, taking in his scent.

Hugo took his eyes from the corpse and greeted the _saraak _with a string of friendly gestures.

"You're a Clansman!" the lizard hissed.

"I am Hugo, son of Chief Lucia of the Karaya."

The _saraak_'s eyes widened in recognition, and he lowered his weapon. "I accept you. What does the Karayan Chief's son do in the lion's den?" The _saraak_ knelt down on its haunches and watched him curiously.

Hugo breathed a sigh of relief. "I accept you," he replied, and walked up closer to bow politely. "I came… to find answers." The _saraak _cocked its wedge-shaped head and flicked its tongue about its head. "What is your name?" Hugo asked.

"I have no name."

It took only a moment for Hugo to understand. He drew breath sharply. "You're an Avenger…!"

The Avenger swept its tail across the tiles in answer. The scales made a clattering tune against the clay.

Hugo squatted down and folded his arms over his knees. "Why have you foresworn your name? Who have you come for?"

The Avenger bobbed his head from side to side, and seemed to gauge Hugo's intentions. "I have come to avenge Chief Zepon. I will kill the Zexen Council, and the She-Devil assassin."

"The Silver Maiden," Hugo breathed.

The Avenger swept his tail across the tiles. He was leaner than the average _saraak _warrior, but if he had been chosen for this task, Hugo knew that he was no less deadly. _An Avenger might rely on stealth to reach his target, but he does not need stealth to make the kill._ Looking at his clothes, the Avenger sneered. Hugo caught the gesture, and shrugged. "It's necessary. I'm still wearing my warrior bracelets," he said, rolling up his sleeves to show them.

The Avenger rose from its sitting position and leaned forward, balancing on its hands. "The night that follows this night, I will strike."

Hugo licked his lips, and nodded slowly. _This changes everything._ He forced his mind to think faster, but could not reconcile the desires in his head. Tilting his head to the side, he breathed deeply and spoke, "Are you alone?"

The tail swept the other way. "I was alone," the Avenger said. "Now you are with me. You will help me avenge Chief Zepon. I accept you."

Hugo's head swam as he looked deep into the reptilian eyes of the _saraak _Avenger. _He will not hear reason. If I tell him what I've been doing, he'll probably cut me down here and now. I don't believe that Chris killed Chief Zepon, but… I have no proof. If Chris is killed, or even just the Council, it will plunge the Clans into full war with Zexen. There will be no turning back._ He frowned. _But how could I betray my people?_

"Do I have your cooperation?" the Avenger asked.

**-Borus-**

Borus rose in his saddle as he galloped through the gates, not even stopping to return the confused guardsmen's salute. His heart raced, and his mind reeled, but he had to reach the Council as quickly as possible to relay the news. He struggled to comprehend the fact that the Captain was dead. _Slain by the barbarians, _he though vehemently. He cursed them silently, and fanned the flame of vengeance that had been building in his heart since her death. _I will cut them down, to the last woman and child. Ours shall be the last generation to suffer at the hands of the barbarians; I swear it!_

He made his stallion swerve onto a broad street, and made for the center square. Suddenly, a coach raced out from a side street, led at a frightening pace by a pair of horses. People threw themselves out of the way as the carriage swerved from side to side. Startled, Borus motioned his stallion to the side of the street and watched in annoyance. The side of the coach was emblazoned with the sigil of Head Councilor Rean. _Of course, _he thought irritably. _That arrogant bastard._

Suddenly, Borus caught sight of a figure clinging to the coach's side. A woman. She was holding on for all she was worth, but the driver's careless urgency flung her to and fro, even as the door opened and shut, as though someone inside tried to slam her with it.

Uttering a curse, Borus spurred his steed into motion and moved to intercept the coach. He drew his sword and called out to the driver. The man saw him, and shock spread on his face. He slapped his reins against the horses and ushered them to increase their speed.

Borus glanced at the woman as she held on for dear life. There was something familiar about her. Roaring, he motioned his stallion closer to the coach and slashed the reins on the rightmost horse.

The driver screamed as he lost control of the coach. It swerved, sliding sideways and listing precariously. Within moments, the carriage toppled and slammed its side onto the cobblestone street. Screams sounded from inside the wagon as the driver was tossed off by the impact, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and rolling over to lie motionless on the cobblestones.

Borus leapt from his horse and ran over to the coach even as dozens of citizens gathered in a wide circle around the crash site. The horse he had cut loose was already off in the distance, but the remaining gelding was chafing against its reins, unable to move with the coach behind it dragging against the ground.

He heard groans from inside the wagon, but the door remained closed. From behind the coach, the woman stumbled to her feet, wiping stray tresses of hair from her face. Disoriented, she looked up, and met his eyes.

Borus' eyes widened with shock. "C-Captain?" he breathed.

The Captain looked startled, and quickly ran over to him. "Quiet," she said. "Do not say my name, or hint at my identity."

Numb, Borus nodded enthusiastically. _It _is _her! Oh, thank you, sweet Goddess! _His mind was so flooded with relief that he barely thought to question her presence, much less her orders. "You… You died…?" he managed.

"Where?" she demanded.

"Iksay."

The Captain nodded. "I see." Though blemished with bruises and cuts, her face was radiant, and thoroughly beautiful. Borus could not help but let his face split in a grin as he stared at her. She was frowning, and watched the coach for any signs of motion. "I do not have much time, then," she said.

"What do you mean, milady?"

She shook her head. "Pretend you are tending to me as the victim of a crime. Now, listen very carefully."

By the time the Captain had finished her blunt story, Borus' elation had split into a dozen conflicting emotions. The gladness remained, but it was tempered by a multitude of dark thoughts that caused his blood to boil.

So distraught was he that he did not notice the man who extricated himself from the surrounding throng and ran towards the Council Hall.

**-Jena-**

Jena walked with hurried steps through the dungeons beneath the Council Hall. She paid little mind to the guardsmen and the voices and sounds of the cell block as she passed through corridors and turned corners on her dogged path towards Alron's cell. Now that the truth was one step closer, she felt a great excitement building in her chest. _You thought you could make me a worthy adversary, Silver Maiden? _She allowed herself a smug smile. _I've swallowed little girls like you whole. You'll be no different. No one dupes me, _she vowed. She hurried down a circling stairwell, keeping her eyes on her feet as they fell on the narrow steps.

"Halt, lady," a gruff voice said from below. A soldier stood in her way, and his expressionless eyes were fixed on her.

She halted, and felt a steady drip from the stones above soak the fabric on her shoulder. "Is there a problem, guardsman?"

"Not really, lady. I just need to ask you a few questions before you enter this here cell block."

Sighing inwardly, Jena nodded. It was but a temporary hindrance. With Gattyn's seal of approval, she could come and go as she pleased. This guardsman could never stop her.

**-Alron-**

Hairline fractures ran along the bricks of the dungeon ceiling, spreading out in elaborate and seemingly random patterns across the ancient stone. Shut away from the world in his solitary cell, Alron had mapped them all. There was no such thing as a random pattern. He could see the logic, the paradigm to the fractures, and he knew what their message was. It mirrored his thoughts.

Life is not fair.

The savage beating that the Captain had subjected him to had left its marks, not least in the form of a broken nose bent out of shape and a clobbered, bruised and battered face. His lungs strained against aching bones, making each breath an agonizing thing. _To be so aware of one's breathing_, Alron thought, _is an equal share of the pain_. At the same time, his cheeks throbbed with hurt.

_I think that wench might've broken my damn jaw._ Rolling over on the rigid cot, he abandoned his study of the ceiling and tried to find a position in which the pain subsided. It eluded him. Groaning to himself, he banged his fist against the wooden surface. "This isn't fair," he mumbled, though he knew that no one would hear. _No one cares, more likely. That little twit's going to ruin Zexen. If she turns the Harmonians aside for the damn barbarians… She'll make us all slaves to those blue-eyed bastards, and for what? Rutting misguided notions of honor. What honor does she have left, anyway? She's only in this position because she's got the face of a whore, and probably more talents where that came from. The so-called Mighty Knights, playing at heroism with no eyes for reality. They're worse than fools! They couldn't care less if Zexen burned along with all of its people, as long as they have their rutting honor intact._

Sighing, Alron rolled onto his back and blinked, peering at the ceiling and its fractures through heavy eyelids. Stroking his aching cheek, he mumbled, "Good with the fists, though…"

The rustle of iron reached his ears as a key was placed in the lock. There was a metallic slam, and then a persistent creaking as the door was pulled open.

Sitting up on his cot, Alron met the eyes of the man who stepped into the room, and raised his eyebrows. "I didn't expect you."

The man shrugged. His face was drawn, and dispassionate. "Here's your sword," he said, tossing the sheathed weapon towards him.

Alron eagerly grabbed the scabbard and fumbled with it as he rose. The blade slipped three inches from its sheath and tapped against the floor before he got it under control. Heart racing, Alron grinned—and found that it hurt his cheeks. _Pain enforces misery._

"Well, thanks," he said, grasping the scabbard and caressing the hilt. The Crown Rune was undamaged.

The man scowled. "You have your orders. You must leave Vinay at once, without any procrastination. Get out."

Stepping from the bed, Alron pushed past him and left through the open door. The sensation of freedom was exhilarating. In the corridor, Alron held his head high.

Strutting down the hall, he pretended that his nose was not broken.

**-Jena-**

Jena pushed her frustration aside as she strode through the dim and all but abandoned cell block. The guard had detained her for several minutes for no good reason, and his questions had grown more and more asinine each time his mouth opened. Showing him Gattyn's document had done little good, as the guard seemed incapable of even basic literacy. She drew a deep breath, and calmed down. _There's no harm done; just a small delay._

She reached the cell door, and fumbled for the key deposited in her coat pocket. Producing it, she quickly unlocked the door and pushed it open. _I can't wait to see the look on his face, _she thought as her lips curled into a triumphant smile. She stepped inside.

The cell was empty. Baffled, Jena ran in a circle around the room, looking beneath the crude bed and behind the door. _Where is he?_ Eventually, she realized that she would not find him here.

Before long, Jena was cursing like a landlocked sailor.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

The "Avenger" is a _saraak_ assassin. The honor code of the _saraak _forbids the killing of non-combatants, but there is an exception: a _saraak _warrior can foreswear his name and identity as a Clansman, freeing him to take revenge where the honor code prevents it. Only after a thorough cleansing can the Avenger be admitted back to the Clan, as though reborn among them.

The next chapter will be up in a week.

**Next Chapter:**

The battle of minds comes to a head as Chris' plans begin to reach fruition. However, Jena's devious schemes threaten to end the masquerade one step short of victory! Must Chris steel her heart and surrender her mercy to defeat a greater evil? Can Hugo stand up for his beliefs, even if it means betraying his people? Find out as the story arc comes to a conclusion, next time, in Blazing Waves, Burning Rain!


	14. Defeat

"Trust is a funny thing. It is often easy to find, and quick to form. Take war, for instance. A bridge burnt in battle might take a month to rebuild; a ship sunk, a year to replace. A pillaged town will bloom back to prominence in a decade, but trust, once lost, is often irreplaceable. Hardened hearts seldom reconcile, and the betrayed often bequeath their hatred to their children. That is why a burgeoning trust between enemies should always be treated as a precious thing; a pearl in a muddled river."

—Shula Valya, Admiral of the New Armes Western Marine Corps, in a letter to Her Majesty Lymsleia Falenas of the Queendom of Falena

* * *

**-Chris-**

"That's correct," Adeline said, elegantly placing her tea cup by her side where they sat on the overturned cabinet. "It would be necessary to declare Martial Law before that particular edict could be invoked. You have a good grasp of Zexen Law." She smiled, sitting prim and ladylike with her legs crossed at the ankle even in the midst of a room filled with debris. Her face was bruised, but with her tormentors removed, she bore the mark well.

Chris nodded, and raised her own cup to her lips. Steam from the tea warmed her cheeks as she drank the refreshingly bittersweet brew. She lowered the cup. "Excellent. Then everything will go according to plan," she said. _If it is the Goddess' will. I have less than two days before Jena's messenger returns; no more._ She glanced at the broken furniture strewn across the floor, and again felt a stab of embarrassment when she considered that Hugo had done most of the damage in his wild struggle. _Is this how a cornered barbarian fights?_

"So," Adeline said, edging a bit closer. "Tell me about your friend." There was an odd glint in her eyes.

"Pardon me?"

Adeline leaned in and pressed the palms of her hands together in excitement. "Why, the young man who so dashingly thrashed my home, of course!" She laughed.

Chris blinked, and pursed her lips. "His name is Hugo… But there is little to tell." _Little to tell of friendship, at least. What happened to him after we were separated at the carriage? He seemed so tense, just now. Something must have changed._

Adeline cocked her head, and folded her arms stubbornly. "I doubt that. It's obvious that there's something between the two of you." Something distant came into her eyes as she carried on, "I never thought that Christina Lightfellow, Captain of the Knights, would surrender her solitude."

Chris began to protest, "That is—"

A mischievous grin curled Adeline's lips. "Tell me truthfully: how far have you gone?" She leaned in and whispered, "Have you let him take you?"

Chris' eyes widened, and she very nearly spilled her tea. "What? Of course not!" she exclaimed.

Adeline rolled her eyes demonstratively and smirked. "You protest too strongly, my dear. There must be something going on."

"There is not!" she blurted out. Her cheeks were burning, and she tried in vain to raise her defenses. _Somehow, Adeline brings back childhood in me, _she thought in resignation.

Her friend snickered, reaching down to stir her tea with the silver spoon. "Well, maybe that is true. I wager it's too soon for that kind of thing now, but you'll have to deal with it eventually." She paused, and searched for words, "He seemed the forthright type."

"You are reading far too much into this," Chris said. She tried to hide her burning cheeks in the cup. _There could be nothing between Hugo and me. _Feeling flustered, she frowned. _There _is _nothing between Hugo and me._

Adeline carried on as though Chris had not spoken. "I didn't think younger men were your type. He is handsome, though; well-proportioned, and already quite tall," she said with a meaningful smile.

"He is Karayan," Chris said.

"Oh?" Adeline edged closer, and her face took on a conspiratorial look. "Not just a younger man, but a forbidden love? This is like something out of one of those books you used to read."

Chris cleared her throat and set her cup down at her side to stall for time. _Yes, 'used to.'_ She wet her lips. "There is no love," she said. "In fact, he loathes me."

"It didn't seem like it, to me," Adeline said in a lilting voice.

Chris sighed. "No, it is true. I… I killed his friend." _How could I blame him for hating me?_

Her friend sighed. "Oh dear… Now I am bursting with curiosity. You have to tell me everything. A secret for a secret…?" She chuckled.

Chris could not help but to smile at the memory. "A secret for a secret," she repeated. She drew a deep breath. "I will go first."

Talking about did not make it better. However, it made it easier.

**-Nash-**

Chorus after chorus of boisterous shouts rang out from the assembled men as they fed Gandran's speech with support.

"Are we gonna lets the Council treat us like garbage?" Gandran asked hotly.

"No!" the crowd responded as one. Each man seemed lost in his righteous wrath as the blacksmith's words nourished their own thoughts and ideas and shaped them into a cohesive sentiment.

Each man but Nash. He hung back, showing equal fervor each time Gandran posed a rhetorical question to the group that had gathered in the abandoned warehouse. On the outside, his shouts joined the crowd, but on the inside, he was carefully weighing his actions to stimulate the mob mentality. What Gandran lacked in sophistication, he made up for with enthusiasm. He well knew how best to maintain a burning torch, while Nash would purposefully seek out those who seemed to waver and speak words of encouragement to bring them fully into the fold. At this stage, he no longer needed to speak openly; Gandran had become fully autonomous in his message of hate against the Council. Now, Nash had only to watch, and direct the growing mob from the shadows. They were the pyre, and Gandran was the kindle.

_And, _Nash thought, _I am the spark._

**-Chris-**

The building, a single-story house in the seedy Stonepier District, had looked rundown on the outside; a ramshackle collection of dilapidated wood. Surprisingly, the inner walls were polished to perfection, and the hooded lamps hanging on hooks in the ceiling spread a pleasant light across a meticulously ordered room. It was cozy, in an unnerving way. _Perhaps because this is Jena's home, _Chris thought.

She concentrated on maintaining a casual stride as she followed the woman down a set of stairs, having long since given up on stilling the anxious feeling inside. Each breath felt forced, and she worried that her hate would reach her eyes, or her fury clench her fists. The sword at her hip seemed to burn for her touch, and her mind raced with thoughts and possibilities. _Why has she brought me her? _she wondered.

Even the basement was tidy. The unkempt men in frayed working clothes lounging around a table seemed out of place, as though they were intruders in the orderly house despite their casual behavior. The sound of coughing revealed the presence of a man standing in the corner. Jena turned as she entered the room, facing Chris. Behind the woman, Chris could see the bars of a cell built into the wall. The men rose from their seats to watch her as she stepped into the room.

"Goddess' tits," a gap-toothed man swore, "She lookers just like 'er." The man shrank back with a chuckle as she leveled a cool gaze at him. With great difficulty she resisted the urge to glance at the cell.

"I want you to see something," Jena said. Her lips were twisted into a smile that spoke of triumphant scorn, barely restrained. She turned, swept her arm towards the cell, and stepped back to give Chris a full view.

Chris took a step forward, and felt her eyes widen before she forced them to stop. A figure was huddled up against the cell's far wall, head hanging and barely moving. Chris very nearly ran to the bars. _Prion!_

Slowly, tortuously, Chris approached the cell to get a closer look at him. The first thing she noticed was the stubble on his chin; it seemed so out of place on the man. He looked bruised, battered, and weak, and his clothes were torn and soiled. His rasping breath reached her where she stood at the bars, and just as she watched him, he convulsed in a bout of coughs. It was all Chris could do to keep her heart from bursting. The effort of containing the lightning in her veins set her teeth on edge and raised hairs on the nape of her neck.

And Jena was watching her with the eyes of a hawk. She was gauging her reaction, trying to break her disguise by parading her butler and guardian before her like a simple tool.

Chris turned to look at Jena, and forced a condescending smile. _I swear by the Goddess; I will kill you slowly, Jena. _"How does this concern me?" she asked, carefully choosing her words.

Jena's mouth opened, but before she could speak, Prion roused at the sound of Chris' voice. "M-Milady… Is that you…?" His voice broke, and he coughed fitfully.

The sound wrenched at her heart, but she steeled herself, and did not turn. The men fanned out around her, slowly but menacingly, and watched her with eyes filled with lust and violence. Their hands were inches from the clubs hanging from their sides. _They won't attack unless Jena is convinced of her suspicion, _Chris thought._ If it comes to that, I have my sword._ _I can win, even outnumbered as I am. But it would ruin everything. _Jena's searing eyes remained fixed on her, and the woman was smiling. _Could I sacrifice Prion to achieve my goals? No, _she decided.

Jena was a long time in replying, and as the seconds passed in uncomfortable silence, Chris was torn between confidence and despair. Certainly Jena's watchful eyes could not fail to see through her now. The woman showed sign of neither triumph nor frustration. "Not directly," she said carefully. "It doesn't concern you, but I wanted to have your opinion on how to deal with this spy."

Chris felt a wave of unease. _If she hasn't thought of a better excuse, she doesn't care about a backup plan. She has put all her eggs in one basket: she intends to unmask me here and now. _Just like a hawk, the woman watched her. A hawk with a demon's heart.

"I see," Chris said. Prion was mumbling her name in the cell, and she heard his fingers scratch against the iron bars. Her heart was thudding hard, and she felt a knot forming in her chest. "Since you brought me all this way, this must be of the utmost importance," she said with a twinge of sarcasm. She searched her mind for the next logical thing to ask. "Where was the spy caught?"

Jena hesitated before saying, "He was snooping about the manor. He might have overheard something important, so I think it would be best to have him killed."

Chris turned, and tried to remain casual as her eyes met with Prion's. Hazy and disoriented, he tried to focus his vision, but his gaze kept faltering as he hung on the bars. "Milady…" he murmured. "It's… me…"

_I know, Prion. I know. Don't worry; I will get you out of here, one way or the other. _Chris looked at Jena over her shoulder. _Your plan is devious, but not without its flaws. Your weak excuses give me some leeway to work with. _She shook her head, and said,"We need to know who sent him. There is always the chance that there is more than one spy, and I am curious to know who yet resists us in Vinay."

"Then we will torture him," Jena said. "Would you like to watch?" she asked in a casual tone as she started towards the cell.

Chris' heart leapt, and she very nearly stopped the woman through force. Instead, she looked calmly at her. "He looks fragile. I will not risk losing him to the hot iron. That is unacceptable." Ignoring the look of shock and sorrow on Prion's face, she turned to Jena. "I have a better solution." Jena simply nodded. _In the end, the Chimera is in charge. She will not disobey a direct order unless it removes all doubt. Clearly, she has not yet seen through me. I intend to ensure that she doesn't._

Walking up to the cell, she reached through and leaned down to touch a finger to Prion's forehead. The man grunted, and looked at her with wide eyes. "M-Milady…W-Why…?" he stuttered.

"Can you hear me well?" she asked.

"Y-Yes, milady…" He tore through a fit of coughs, and his hands clenched and unclenched on the bars.

"I will need you to answer some questions. If you _do_ what I _say_, everything will be well," she said. She offered a prayer to the Goddess that his mind remained as sharp as ever.

"Yes," he rasped.

"Who do you work for?" she asked.

"C-Captain Lightfellow," he said with a groan.

"I see." _A logical answer, even if he were a spy._ "Did she send you to spy on us?"

Breathing heavily, Prion shook his head. "I'm not… a spy."

Chris snorted. "I will find the truth, whether you want me to or not."

Jena came to her side. "Lady, I would be more than happy to interrogate him for you."

Chris looked up at her. _So, you begin to have doubts. You're worried that the Chimera is real, and that she can pluck the truth from this man's head, revealing your bold-faced lie. That would be bad, wouldn't it? _"No; it is a small matter for me." She turned her eyes back to Prion. "When did you last see Captain Lightfellow?"

"You're here…" he breathed. "Milady, why are you doing this…?"

"I mean before now. When was the last time?"

"Before… you left for Brass Castle…"

He had been grossly mistreated, and his listless behavior gave her cause to worry that he might not survive for much longer, even without torture. _I have to get him out of here, and I can't afford to wait. _She squatted down before him. "Were you in the Lightfellow Manor, then?"

"Yes."

"You are familiar with that place."

He nodded.

"There is a sword on display in the master bedroom," she said. "Who last took it down?"

"Captain Lightfellow," he replied.

_That is right; when I was nine. _"What did she do?"

He hesitated, eyes struggling to focus on her.

"You're trying to hide it from me. _Do_ what I _say_. What did she _do_? Do you understand?" _Goddess, please make him understand._

"I-I…" Prion stammered. A few seconds passed, and then his eyes seemed to focus for a fleeting moment before rolling up in their sockets. He collapsed onto the floor with a groan, seemingly unconscious.

Chris felt a flood of relief. _That's right. I pretended to sleep, so you wouldn't realize I was playing with father's sword. You remembered. _She stood and faced Jena, creasing her forehead. "He is too weak for any form of interrogation. You must take care that he regains his strength."

The woman looked at her curiously. "Those were some strange questions."

The men were all watching her with unsure eyes. Chris ignored them, and kept her face blank as she replied, "The rune works by tricking the mind with mundane questions. Unfortunately, the spy's weakness prevented me from extracting any meaningful information." _That seems plausible enough. She will doubt me, but no more than she does already._

Jena nodded slowly.

Chris felt cold; she could not help but think about how close she had come to being discovered, and possible getting Prion killed. _Thank the Goddess for his wits._ "Make sure you keep him alive, and conscious. I will return when there is time."

"I could take care of this for you, mistress," Jena said.

Chris shook her head. "No. I prefer to deal with it myself. After I am done, we will dispose of him." The callousness of the lie made her shudder at her own words. Jena bowed her head, but there was a glint of frustration in her eyes. Chris almost smiled. "In the meantime," she said, "Keep emptying the estate's coffers. I trust you have been discreet about it?" She shot the woman a questioning look.

Jena nodded. "I have." Chris thought she could see a smirk half-formed on Jena's lips. Nodding, she walked past the woman, towards the stairs. "Bry; escort the mistress to the door," Jena said, and motioned for one of men to follow her. The man bounded up the stairs in her wake.

Chris did not bother to turn and face him. She walked up the stairs and made a beeline for the door. The man passed her and pushed it open, holding it ajar for her with a gap-toothed, lustful grin. As she passed through the threshold, she glanced at him. "Being able to masquerade as someone else is a useful talent, is it not?"

The man nodded vigorously. A look of excitement came over his face, as though her question had sparked the courage to speak. "Mistress, err, if I could jus' ask ye…"

"What is it?"

"That is, err, I'm not one o' them handsome blokes…" he mumbled, scratching his filthy hair sheepishly.

_That's an understatement, _she thought.

"Um, well, is 'ere any way… Could ye change the way I looks, too?"

A smile spread on Chris' face. She glanced back at the stairs, but saw no one. Their voices would not carry down to the basement. "Can you write?" she asked. He nodded dumbly. "Excellent. You know the Lightfellow Manor?"

"Yes, mistress. We been keeping an eyes on 'e place."

Chris nodded slowly. "Listen carefully. Send a message to Lightfellow Manor." She paused to think for a moment, "Written in chicken blood. Write down what you wish to look like. Fold the paper twice, and then write my real name on the cover. Do not mention this, or show the message to anyone before you send it, or the magic will _not_ work. Do you understand?"

His eyes were as wide as saucers, and he bobbed his head vigorously as a stupid grin spread on his face. "I 'as thinking I wanted to looks like Sir Percival."

Chris nodded. "Then describe him on the paper. Be specific."

"A'right," he said.

"As payment, you will ensure that the spy survives until I am ready to interrogate him. Is that understood?"

The man nodded.

Without another word, Chris walked through the door and left. She had been tossed between emotions: the crippling anxiety of not knowing Prion's fate had been replaced for a moment with the sheer relief of seeing him alive, only to be returned to worry and despair as she contemplated how to save him before it was too late.

_Chicken blood, _she mused. _Where did I get that from?_

**-Jena-**

Mind wandering far from the present, Jena looked right past Bry as the simpleton returned to the basement. She hardly noticed him. She felt frustrated; torn between doubt and certainty with each word spoken as she replayed the scene in her head. She searched for a clue; some hint that would damn the Silver Maiden. _Could she really be Sarah? _The thought remained implausible. There were far too many coincidences, and they kept piling up one upon the other. She turned to look at the unconscious butler. _The questions she asked… Is it possible that something passed between them that I did not realize? No; I'll find no answers there._ She abandoned the thought irritably to return to the main thread.

Her face had betrayed no emotion, not even in the instant when she was confronted with her beaten companion. _Could she be that cold-blooded? No; she couldn't master her emotions well enough. That means I must have misjudged the worth of this man in her heart. Strange; I had the impression that he was very important to the Silver Maiden._

The men began to resume their casual chatting, discussing the matter in crude and ignorant terms. She turned to growl, silencing the lot of them without a word. They mumbled apologies as they quietly sat back down.

_Even so, my trap is laid: now that I've brought her here, she is the only person who knows the location of the butler. If he were to be freed in some manner, it could be none other than the Silver Maiden's work, and if she is alive, then there can be no doubt about her identity._ Jena's lips twisted into a grim smile. She would never be outsmarted by a witless knight.

_Never!_

**-Hugo-**

_The world seemed to slant, as though the scales had tipped too far in one direction. Mountains rose and fell on the listing horizon, but they seemed shaped from shadow, as though the Spirits had fled the stone._

"_Think about it," Lulu said, sitting cross-legged on the barren soil. "This is a crossroads."_

_As though his words were a cue, the earth cracked and split as weathered signposts with markers in all directions shot up from the broken ground; a gallery of illegible guides spreading out around him like the trees of a glade._

"_He is right," Chris said. Her voice reached him from behind, and he was startled. He dared not turn; without seeing, he knew that she was naked, and he felt a great shame._

"_I do not want to look at you," he said._

"_No," Lulu said. "You want to look, but you won't." His face twisted with rage. "Why do you want to look, Hugo?_

_He was right; he yearned to look, and more besides. His blood pumped, but he would not turn. "I'm sorry," he whispered._

_Suddenly, Lulu was raised onto his feet, only to have a noose form around his neck. His body was jerked like a rag doll, and suddenly he was hanging from a tree, its branches sere and wilted. With a twisted neck, the boy spoke, "You are betraying me."_

"_No…"_

"_You are betraying all of Karaya. The Spirits of our ancestors watch you with disgust."_

_Hugo's breath caught in his throat. He tried to speak, but felt something wet rush over his feet. He looked down._

_A stream of blood rose to his knees. As the gruesome brook passed, he could see tormented faces reflected in the surface; dead eyes staring at him with anger and dismay. He was vaguely aware of the blood rising around his legs as he watched._

_Lulu's face was pale as death as he hung from the tree, but his eyes were bright flames of rage. "Where do your loyalties lie? Who stood with you when you were chased by the bear? Who helped you when you found a wounded griffon in the woods? Who lied to cover for you? Who—"_

"_I know!" Hugo shouted. The blood reached up to his arms._

"_I stood by you," Lulu said. "I was loyal."_

"_Yes," he whispered. Even now, Chris' presence behind him echoed in his mind. He felt her warmth against his back, and longed to turn. He felt shame._

"_But you betray me. Is this how you repay a friend?"_

_The blood reached past his shoulders. The tortured faces rose from the surface and crowded him, screaming wordlessly. He struggled against an increasingly strong undertow, and felt a great panic as he was pulled down. As his ears came beneath the surface, they were filled with voices._

_Voices, screaming for vengeance._

Hugo shot up in his bed. He touched his hands to his face and fought to fill his lungs with air. _I'm drowning, _he thought. _I'm drowning._ He looked around, took in the dark room, and squeezed his eyes shut. Slowing his breath, he fell back down onto the mattress, and stared at the ceiling as the shape of planks began to grow out of the blackness. _No, I'm alive. I'm awake._

_But I'm still drowning._

**-Chris-**

The moon's gentle face sent shafts of light washing over the room's dark floor boards. Candles and lamps left unlit, the antechamber was cast in shadows creeping from corner to obscured corner. Near the wall, Chris sat on a cushioned stool before the piano and touched cautious fingers against its cold ivory keys. She sat on the right side of the stool, leaving room for another. Habits had a way of trapping a distracted mind.

Much like nostalgia.

_Timidly, Chris leaned towards the maple rim of the piano and pressed a key, producing a shrill sound. She jerked back, and began to pout. "It's no use," she said, "I have no talent."_

_Prion smiled. "Not so. Try again."_

"_But I have tried so many times, and nothing comes of it!" she said. "It's a waste of time."_

"_Young Lady," he said, running his fingers along the keys to produce a simple but delicate tune, "The piano is an acquired skill, much like breathing." He winked at her, and she was forced to surrender a small smile. "With enough practice—frustrating practice—you will master it; I assure you."_

"_Really?"_

_He nodded soberly. "Before long, you will begin to feel accustomed to the sensation of the keys beneath your fingers, and your hands will start to reach for the right notes of their own volition."_

_Chris glowered sullenly as she peered at the butler. She crossed her arms and puffed up in frustration. She met his eyes, and tried to wither the smile on his lips. She failed._

_Giggling, the girl reached out her open palm to the man. "Promise?"_

_Their palms met, and Prion wound his much larger fingers between hers, shaking her arm playfully. "I promise," he said._

A feeling of piercing sorrow roused Chris from the memory. Her fingers were moving unwittingly across the piano's keys as her mind roamed, producing a tune to match her mood. _You raised me never to give my word lightly; you know that I will honor my word. _Her heart sank. _If I can._

Her eyes rose to the top of the piano, where two Pentacles of Knighthood rested—her own, and her father's. _Whose footsteps am I following? Where will this path lead me?_

Stubbornly she fought the tears.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo stood pressed against the wall by the door as the music streamed from the room. It was a soft tune from an unfamiliar instrument, but even muted as it was by the closed door, it was distinctly mournful. It plucked at Hugo's heart, and provoked a reaction that was difficult to hold at bay. He was torn; part of him wanted to get as far away from the source as possible, but the other part wanted nothing more than to surrender to it. _I'm drowning, _he thought again.

Drawing a deep breath, he turned to the door. His heart raced as he pulled the knob and pushed it open, stepping inside.

Chris missed a note, but did not look at him.

He was silent for a moment, but then closed the door and walked past her. The tune was stronger now; more potent in its message of sorrow. "That's a really large instrument. Do you really need all of it?" His voice was harsh; loud enough to drown out the music for a moment.

"Yes," she replied. She did not miss a note, this time.

Desperate to speak, Hugo glanced around the dark room. His eyes fell on something glinting on the large instrument in the moonlight. "That's the Pentacle I returned to you. You have two?" He saw a joke there, but did not have the heart to utter it.

She was long in replying, but finally she said, "The Pentacle of Knighthood is given to each squire who becomes a knight. You returned the one which belonged to my father, and the other is mine."

Hugo felt a stab of guilt. _Her father was killed by Clansmen… But he was a knight. Just like the previous Captain of the Knights._ He paused for a moment, facing the window outlined with moonlight, and said, "You've also lost people who were important to you."

The music stopped. For some reason, he did not dare turn to face her now. The memory of the dream returned, and he colored, thankful that his face was unseen.

Hugo gathered his courage, and said, "I'm sorry." His eyes sank to the floor, and he squeezed them shut as he added, "For saying that you were abandoned."

"I accept your apology," she said in a weak voice.

_I'm sorry, _he thought, _but it doesn't change anything. _He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She was sitting straight-backed on the edge of the stool with her hands in her lap, staring at the silent keys. There was something else he wanted to say, but he could not muster the strength.

"My butler," she said suddenly, "Jena is holding him hostage." Her eyes did not leave the instrument.

"What's a butler?" Hugo asked.

She shook her head. "He was more than that," she said distraughtly. She nodded, and then turned to face him. She was calm, but her eyes held nothing but sorrow as they fixed on him. "As a young child, after my parents passed away, he was my only friend and confidante."

"I never knew my father," Hugo blurted out. _Why did I say that? _Feeling somewhat embarrassed, he hesitated to speak.

"But you had the Clan," she said thoughtfully. She frowned, and turned her eyes on the window. "Jena showed him to me, in an attempt to unmask me."

Hugo scowled. "She's contemptible. What happened?"

Chris explained quickly and succinctly, each word setting Hugo's teeth further on edge.

"The trap remains," she said. "Since Jena has willingly leaked the information only to me, if he were to be released, she would logically presume that I was responsible, whether I am masquerading as the Chimera or not. If I am alive, then the story I have fed her is obviously a lie. She will have her proof, and she will warn the Council before we have time to act."

Hugo paced across the creaking floor. "How much more do you need from Jena? What if we capture her first, and then get Prion out right away?"

"No. I cannot risk it. I am sure she has contingencies planned for such an event. He might be dead before we reach him."

Hugo raked a hand through his hair as he thought. "Right. You're the only one who's both interested in freeing him and knows where he is. She's made sure of that. Like you said, it's a trap. What if—"

She nodded. "What if somehow, his location was leaked to another person willing to free him, and Jena knew about it? This way, it would be plausible for someone else to rescue him. Yes; I have thought of this, but I cannot find a way to make it work."

"Keep thinking," he said. Grim as the problem was, it presented his mind with a challenge that kept his nightmarish guilt from surfacing. In a twisted way, he was glad for the opportunity to be distracted, and his hatred of Jena and the Chimera was enough to distract him from almost everything. He glanced at Chris, who sat deep in thought.

"I'm going for a walk," he said. Before she could respond, he was out of the room and on his way to find Nash. _Sometimes, it's best to take the most direct route._

**-Jena-**

The lurid glare of flames lit up the predawn sky as fire rose from the walls of the house. Jena stared in shocked bewilderment as people shouted and ran to and fro around her. Some people were making a halfhearted attempt at forming lines to hand carry buckets to the fire, but their efforts were denied as guardsmen pushed their way down the streets in small groups, parting throngs of people wherever they found them to pacify the mob before its violence spilled out into the rest of the city.

Her house was burning. Despite the heat of the fire, her blood felt frozen as she stared at the flames crowning the building, and her mouth hung open with disbelief.

"Mistress!" someone called out.

Numbly, she turned her face to see one of her men—Gurd—rush up to her. "We're all okays, buts the house…" His face was warped with shock.

"I can see that!" she snapped. Right now, their health was the farthest thing from her mind, but his words broke her stupor. She began to think. _Did she do this? _"What about the butler?" she asked.

Gurd shrugged. "We lefts him, he must be deader."

Jena scowled. _No, it can't have been her. She wouldn't have risked killing him. There's no way it could have been her. _Even so, the rage in her heart burned for one person only.

The Silver Maiden.

**-Chris-**

The flames had already simmered down to cinders when Chris reached Stonepier District, and the skeletal remains of the burnt out house stared her right in the face like a spiteful ghost. As she stood watching, a charred beam collapsed onto the ground, and she flinched.

Chris gasped for air. _He must be dead, _she thought. She felt lightheaded, and she was shivering even as she pulled the dark cloak closer about her body. Somehow, as the flame had left the building's singed frame, so too had the heat been drawn from her skin. Too shocked for anger, she stood frozen in place. _Oh, Prion, _she mourned.

Dawn began to break on the horizon while she stood staring at the rubble, and the world fell away around her as she retreated into her own mind.

"You missed the action," she heard a familiar voice say.

Startled, Chris turned to see Hugo looking at her with a silly grin on his face. He was covered with soot, and his soaked clothes were singed. Too bewildered to speak, she gaped at him.

"It's just like Nash says; anger's an amazing thing. All you need is a spark," he snapped his fingers, "And a house will go up in flames."

Chris fumbled for words. "You…"

His grin shrank into an earnest smile. "Don't worry; we got him out."

In that instant, she could not contain a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she stopped her tears before the relief overflowed her mind. Delirious with gratitude, she reached out blindly and clutched his hand, squeezing it firmly between her palms. "Thank you," she said emphatically.

His hand was warm. "I… I heard from Percival about the attack on Karaya," he mumbled. "I don't… blame you. There; I said it…" His fingers flexed cautiously around hers, and then went slack as his voice trailed off. She opened her eyes.

Eyes closing slowly, Hugo collapsed against her. Nearly stumbling backwards, she grasped his shoulders and halted his fall. _You're exhausted, _she thought. Reaching down to grip the boy's chest, she pulled him up and slung his arm over her shoulders.

She blinked unshed tears from her eyes. "Do not worry," she whispered, "I will protect you."

**-Hugo-**

Chris was lounged in a chair, eyes fixed on the book in her lap as Hugo entered the library. She saw him, and immediately sat up straight. "You are awake," she said.

Hugo nodded. He felt awkward meeting her eyes, and glanced at the window. The curtains were halfway drawn, and a bronzed light fell on the floor as the sun began its downward journey. His thoughts went to the Avenger's words. _It ends tonight. Time is running out, _he thought anxiously, and vainly sent a wish to the Spirits for more time. His father's sword felt heavy where it hung from his hip. "Did you see Prion?" he asked awkwardly, stalling for time.

Chris smiled slightly. "Yes. He seems to be doing much better now." She hesitated, eyes flickering about uncertainly before she looked at him again. "Thank you again. I really…"

He walked over to her chair and took the book from her lap. She made to protest, but silenced when he glanced at her. The look on her face was uncertain, and perhaps awkward. Flipping the book over, he read the title aloud. "The… Queen's Knight?" He stumbled over the words.

Chris stood up. "You can read?" She reached for the book.

Hugo turned and brought the book out of her reach. "I'm Chief Lucia's son. What kind of book is this?"

"It is nothing special." She made to reach around him, but he paced away from her. Her sense of dignity seemed to prevent her from making a move.

Hugo turned the book to read from the page she had left off on. "The warrior's… passion flared… as he saw her… lithe form… vanish in the night. He knew he could never have her, and was… content to watch her from… afar, but in his heart…" He stared at the words with a frown, and turned to Chris. "What does it say here?"

Her cheeks had colored a rich crimson. She snatched the book from his hands and closed it. "It says… 'But in his heart, an unbridled passion burned.'" Her voice nearly faltered with embarrassment as she spoke.

Hugo struggled not to grin. "Oh? So that woman; she doesn't like him?"

"She does, but she cannot show it."

"Why not?"

Chris cleared her throat and looked at him evasively. "Because their love is forbidden," she said.

"So what? It says he's got an unbridled passion. Doesn't that mean he can't control it?"

"Poetically speaking, yes," she said. "It would mean that he cannot master it."

Hugo scratched his head. "So if he feels that way about her, he should just show it. If he wants her, he should take her."

"That is… Not very romantic," Chris said.

Hugo shrugged. "It's effective, right? Besides, didn't you say she likes him too?"

She nodded.

"Then why's she hiding? She should show him that she's interested."

Chris shook her head. "As I said; theirs is a forbidden love."

"Sure; it's forbidden because they're being cowards about it. If they love each other, who cares what other people say? Wouldn't it be more entertaining to read, that way?"

"No," Chris said excitedly, "The characters' struggle to bond in spite of their differences and the social mores that prevent them from joining is what makes the narrative engaging."

Hugo laughed. "You've thought about this a lot."

Chris' eyes widened, and the color that had slowly faded from her cheeks returned with new fervor. "I have not," she said. "It is… evident at first sight. I merely read these novels when I am stressed. It helps me relax."

"Whatever you say," Hugo said with a grin. "It's cute." Surprised at what he had said, Hugo felt embarrassed, but suppressed it before she noticed. He kept his eyes on her.

Chris squirmed under his stare, and though her mouth worked, no words came. Several seconds passed before she regained her usual composure. At that time, she set the book down on the table with a thud and placed her fists on her hips. "If it might shut you up, I will teach you how to use that sword you are carrying around as a decoration." She nodded at the weapon.

Surprised, Hugo glanced at the sheathed blade, then back at Chris. He nodded dumbly.

All of his anxiety, the feelings he had for a brief moment forgotten as they spoke, now returned at once. Wistfully, he studied her.

_I hope you do not live to regret that offer._

**-Chris-**

Hugo rushed at her, swinging the wooden sword ferociously. Chris sidestepped the attack and slammed her sword down on his back. He grunted, and fell onto his hands and knees, sword rattling against the floor.

"You are using a sword now; not a knife. If you do not match your opponent's range, you will give her an insurmountable advantage."

Rolling over and scrambling to his feet, Hugo grimaced and nodded. He kept his eyes on her as he snatched the sword from the ground and assumed the neutral stance. She looked it over, and nodded absently. _His posture still leaves much to be desired, but it will do for today._ "Again," she said.

A determined look came over his face. As before, he struck quickly without looking for an opening. Lunging carelessly, he thrust his sword at her stomach. Chris stepped to the side and slammed her blade against his shoulder.

Hugo grunted, but did not stop. Pushing forward, he slammed into her. She grunted, and stumbled back in surprise. He bowled over and pushed her back with his sheer weight. Chris' back slammed against something, and books toppled from their shelves around her. She heard the bookshelf creak and groan, and yelped in fear.

Hugo flung her away, and she hit the floor painfully just as the bookshelf collapsed with a mighty crash. Disoriented, Chris looked up to see Hugo straddling her, pressing his wooden sword against her throat. His eyes were tense as they fixed on her.

"There is no point to teaching you if you will not take it seriously," she groaned. "The strike I made was crippling; you would not have been able to push the attack after such a wound." _Is he going to kill me now? After all this? No, _she decided_, I cannot believe it. Not like this. _Somehow, even though she knew in her heart that it was natural for him to hate her, the thought that he might still wish to harm her was terribly hurtful.

Hugo drew deep and slow breaths, and his grip on the practice blade did not relent. She was unable to move more than a muscle. "Maybe," he said. After a few seconds, he exhaled, and withdrew the weapon from her throat. He remained still.

Chris was beginning to feel awkward beneath him, and her heart had quickened. "Stand," she said. "We will continue the lesson." Sweat had begun to bead on her forehead.

Hugo gave a start, and stared at her as though he had not seen her on the floor before now. His cheeks flushed with color, and he began to stand.

"I hope I'm interrupting something interesting," Nash said from the doorway.

Hugo leapt to his feet, and Chris was up in a second, feeling mortified as she brushed dust from her clothes. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

Nash smirked. "Long enough to be entertained."

Chris rolled her eyes, and turned to look at Hugo. The tension she had seen in his eyes had waned, but it was in his limbs, and the look on his face was impossible to read. She felt an ocean of frustration. _The truth is; everything he does confuses me. I don't know _what _to think. How should I act?_ She sighed inwardly.

Hugo's eyes were fixed on Nash, and he snorted. "Mind your own business, Nash."

The spy's expression changed to one of concern. "Let's mind _our _business, shall we? I came to tell you that the Council is requesting the presence of the Silver Maiden, or should I say, the Chimera."

Embarrassment vanished in a wave of anxiety. Chris nodded. "I cannot deny them. Are your preparations complete?"

Nash nodded. "Also, someone dropped off a message, or at least I think it's a message," he said, producing a messy piece of folded paper.

Chris walked over and took it from his hand. Her heart raced as she turned the soggy paper over to read the name on the cover.

_Sarah. _A grim smile formed on her lips. _At last, a name for our Chimera. _She dropped the practice blade, and went to retrieve her sword.

The sun had almost set. The time for preparations was over.

**-Jena-**

Jena's heart thudded ferociously as she stood to the side in the banquet hall on the top floor of the Council Hall. A large skylight covered with glass was built into the ceiling, but the moon was hidden behind clouds, and a series of bright lamps hanging on the walls provided the room with light. The long table made for feasts was unadorned, but the Councilors were lined up along its length, like a gallery of enthroned statues on display. Once important matters had been discussed, the small talk had quickly petered out, and the chamber was laid in silence.

The doors swung open, and the Silver Maiden stepped inside. Their eyes met, and Jena smiled. _You thought you could outwit me? I'm sure you have some backup plan, but I've seen through you. You were never a match for me._

Jena felt a surge of elation, and she found it difficult to suppress the triumphant smile that was forming on her lips. She walked up to the woman, and held out a sealed envelope. "This message came for you," she said excitedly.

Chris took the message, and looked it over. She raised her eyes.

"This is not my name," she said.

Jena's eyes widened as she felt the exultant smile on her face turn to shock. "What?"

**-Chris-**

Chris raised an eyebrow at the woman as she placed the letter marked 'Devina' on the table's surface. "Do you not think I recognize your petty little schemes? You have been nagging at me like a dog on a too-short leash. You have snapped at my heels for the last time, Jena; we will resolve this in private, once we are done here."

"But Sarah, you used the name Devina once before—"

"Enough."

The woman flinched as if beaten. "Yes, mistress," she whimpered, hanging her head.

Mastering her anxiety, Chris turned to address the Councilors. "Why have you called me here?"

Jena seemed subdued, by the Council remained on edge. Head Councilor Rean rose from his seat and leaned against the table on his palms. "Rather belatedly, it has come to our attention that the Captain received help to escape the dungeons, and that Sir Alron was subsequently imprisoned. What do you have to say on this matter?"

Confidently, Chris strode along the table, passing several of the Councilors before she took a seat in the empty chair at the head. "He failed in his duties, allowing the Captain to escape. He had to be punished."

The Councilors remained silent for several seconds. Despite all of their apprehensions, they were still wary of confronting her. _Sarah must've had an iron grip on the Council, _she realized.

Finally, Rean spoke. "Why were we not informed of this?"

"I did not believe it relevant to—"

"Of course!" Jena exclaimed as she woke from her stupor, "Sarah never sat down in the presence of those who knew her secret. Not once. She would always stand!"

Surprised, Chris glanced at Jena. _Is this a trick?_ The woman's teeth were on edge, and there was fire in her eyes. "Nonsense," Chris said.

"No!" Jena shouted. She hurried five steps towards her before stopping to stab a finger through the air at her. "Seize her! It's not Sarah; it's the Captain!"

Chris frowned, and tried to focus. She stood, but before she could speak, several of the Councilors had shouted for the guards. The doors sprang open, and a group of soldiers ran into the banquet hall.

Chris tried to stall. "You are making a _fatal _mistake," she said.

Councilor Lekshan sputtered with anger. "What's this trickery? Preposterous!" His raspy voice grated in her ears.

The guardsmen fanned out around the table and approached her cautiously. She felt the weight of the sword at her side, but did not touch the hilt. _Not yet._

Rean stood leaning against the table, watching her intently. "Drop the illusion, Sarah. Drop it, and prove your identity… Otherwise, we will have to protect our interests despite the risk."

Chris' mind raced through a dozen excuses and as many strategies, but she could see in the Head Councilor's eyes that the time for deception was past. Chris smirked, placing a hand on her hilt.

"Yes; you have always placed your interests before all else."

**-Hugo-**

Hugo was sneaking across the Council Hall's roof when he felt the Avenger's presence in the darkness. He stopped near a glass skylight and waited. Clay tiles clattered underfoot as the assassin crept towards his position. Finally, Hugo turned to see the _saraak _materialize from the shadows.

"Why are you here, son of Chief Lucia?" the Avenger said in its sibilant voice. "You say you will not help mete out justice, yet here you are. What in the name of the Spirits are you doing, hatchling?"

A fierce wind had begun to blow. Hugo's heart was pounding. "I want to speak with you."

The Avenger hissed, and thrashed its tail sideways through the air. "Speak? You're wearing Zexen clothes, like before!"

"It's a disguise," Hugo said.

"Would you hide from your ancestors as well?" the Avenger asked hotly. He took a few quick steps forward, causing Hugo's heart to leap.

He stood his ground. The Avenger stopped before him. "No, I wouldn't," Hugo said. He put steel into his eyes as he met the Avenger's unflagging gaze, inches away from his face. He felt the lizard's hot breath on his cheeks. "I know the Spirits don't want our people to suffer. This war is built on a lie. We can still stop it—"

The Avenger very nearly roared, "A lie? Is that what Chief Zepon's death is to you?"

Hugo flinched. "Chief Zepon wasn't killed by the Silver Maiden; she was with my mother when he was killed! It was an illusion; not even an Ironhead. Someone's trying to start a war between us!"

The Avenger barked a laugh, and Hugo grunted with pain as the _saraak _stabbed a clawed finger against his chest. "A fanciful story, but the Ironheads need no help starting a war!"

"You must believe me," Hugo said, gritting his teeth at the lizard. "If we look at the facts, it's obvious! We can still stop this war, but if you kill the Council tonight, it'll take a generation of bloodshed before the war ends."

The Avenger growled at him. "The Ironheads have invited this upon themselves. A generation of _their _blood would nigh repay their debt!" The _saraak_'s tail thrashed wildly, and he drew his broad-bladed knife and raised it to the sky. "The west wind is howling," he said. "We must balance the scales. Can you not hear it?"

The wind swept through Hugo's hair and tugged at his locks, bearing the vibrant voice of the Spirits to his ears. "I am not deaf," he said.

The Avenger hissed. "It comes down to this, hatchling: you must choose between the Clans and the Ironheads. I have foresworn name and honor; turning back without fulfilling my _oath of vengeance _would make me less than a warrior—less than a male."

The words stabbed at Hugo's conscience. _Lulu… My oath…_

"If you have pride," the Avenger said darkly, "You will stand at my side and win your honor. You will be a champion among the Clansmen. If not, stand with the Ironheads, and die, cursed by the Spirits!"

Hugo's attention was drawn below as he heard distant screams. Shouts rang out as he saw fires appear out of the darkness; dozens of torches weaving through the city's streets. He met the Avenger's eyes, and did not flinch. Chris' face flashed in his mind.

_I am sorry._

**-Chris-**

The guardsmen surrounded her, but seemed hesitant to apprehend or otherwise approach her. Chris breathed heavy as the frustration that had built up over the past few days threatened to overwhelm her. The dam had burst, and a flood was coming. Her face twisted with scorn.

"You think nothing of the people of Zexen; your only motivation is to line your pockets with gold," she said.

Jena looked elated; excited beyond reason as a broad grin spread on her face.

Rean shook his head. "You're wrong." He slumped back into his chair with a grunt, and steepled his fingers on the table. "You wish to have war with Harmonia? You're insane. You would throw the people into chains?"

"We will not share the fate of Sanadia!" Lekshan said in his rasping voice.

Chris scoffed at their words. "You do not care whether the_ people _go in chains or not. You are only interested in keeping your own hands out of the chains."

Jena burst into laughter. "I win," she cackled, "I win!"

Chris ignored her, but several of the Councilors looked at the woman as though she had gone mad.

Councilor Haman cleared his throat, and pointed at Chris. "Take her away," he said, "We don't need anything more from her."

The guards hesitated, glancing at each other for confirmation.

"No," Rean said, "Wait." He frowned. "Two nights ago, a guardsman patrolling the east wall was killed. We thought you had escaped the city, but here you are. Why?"

Chris did not move a muscle.

The Captain of the Guards burst through the open doors, bowing his head to the Councilors in all haste. "Sir; an angry mob has gathered outside the Council Hall. The guard commands the doors, but they're getting increasingly violent."

Chris stared at the wall, and hid a small smile. Her heart was beating like a drum.

**-Adeline-**

The crowd's ferocity was frightening to behold. Gathered around the Council Hall with torches and bludgeons held aloft, hundreds of men had cordoned off the center square and now let their shouts fill the night air. Even now, more and more men were streaming to the square from the surrounding streets, causing the crowd to swell into a heaving press. The city was awake, and it simmered with the rage of the common people, given outlet against the Council. Torches flickered in the budding gale, but like the people's cries for justice, the flames seemed inextinguishable. Only the drawn swords of the soldiers on the steps before the Council Hall held them at bay—for now.

"Here," Nash called out. He grinned as he pushed his way past the incensed people. Armed with a cudgel and wearing the same orange armband as the rioting men, she would never have been able to pick him out of the crowd.

Adeline made a sweeping gesture to take in the mob. "How could I reach the Council Hall, now?"

Nash smirked, and jerked his head towards the building. "These fellows won't give you any trouble; they're kittens, really. As for the guards, they should let you in once you tell them who you are," he said with a smile.

Throat parched, Adeline nodded warily. "Would you make me a path?"

Nash laughed. "Gladly, my lady."

**-Chris-**

Chris' breath felt labored. Concentrating on the simple act was all that kept her from exploding, and her aching hand felt a part of the sword's hilt as she squeezed it tightly.

Rean's eyes turned to the Captain of the Guard. He frowned, and said, "What are you waiting for? Calm them down! Disperse them!"

The Captain looked grim. "It's too late for that. We'll—"

"Too late?" Lekshan spat. "What are you saying, man?"

The Captain's lips thinned as he turned his eyes on the Councilor. "The crowd has grown too large; too threatening. We'll have to use force."

Haman waved his hand dismissively at the Captain. "Do it," he said.

"We cannot," the Captain said, and immediately met with voices of protest. "The edicts do not allow it unless Martial Law is declared."

Chris pursed her lips, glancing past the Captain of the Guard and into the corridor beyond. Rean slammed his fist against the table. "What's gotten into those pig-headed oafs? Fine! All in favor of declaring Martial Law?" His gaze passed over the assembled Councilors. Haman, lazily resting his head against his hand, was the first to give the assent. The others followed within seconds.

"Passed!" Rean declared, slapping his palm against the wooden table.

A surge of elation ran through Chris' body. Turning to meet Jena's eyes, she smiled. Surprised, the woman's own gladness melted away, and she frowned in confusion.

The Head Councilor looked to the Captain of the Guards. "Now disperse the crowd, whatever it takes. And arrest her," he said, pointing at Chris. "I'm weary of explanations."

The Captain hesitated. "Sir," he said, "That's the Silver Maiden."

"I said arrest her!" he shouted.

"That won't be necessary," Adeline said. The woman strode imperiously into the banquet hall, passing a puzzled Captain of the Guard.

"Who are you?" Rean asked.

Adeline paused to smile at Chris before facing the Head Councilor with a stern expression. "I am Guild Delegate Adeline Tarnay, and in accordance with Zexen Law, representing the Merchants' Guild, I hereby declare the dissolution of the Council."

First there was silence, and then Rean began to laugh. "Have you lost your mind? Is this a joke?"

"Oh, it certainly isn't," Adeline said. She approached the table, and unrolled a document upon its surface. "During Martial Law, a Guild Delegate who possesses enough financial clout in the Merchants' Guild is entitled to dissolve the current Council and form a new one."

The Councilors began to protest, talking amongst each other in upset voices. "Is this true?" Haman asked, suddenly awake and alert.

Rean frowned at the document, and timidly picked it up. "This… How did you gain financial majority?"

Jena gasped. "Tarnay…? No… It can't be…"

Chris' gaze bore into the woman. "Oh, but it is."

"You… tricked me," Jena said. "But how? You told me to spend the Lightfellow estate's gold, but you didn't give any directions!"

"Did I not?" Chris asked. "I told you to be swift about it; to invest it rather than spend it, and to do it as quickly as possible. Beyond that, I did not give _you _any directions, but I certainly gave them to others."

Shock spread on Jena's face as the realization dawned on her. "I've been running your errands these past few days! I… I'm the one who's bought you this financial majority…"

Councilor Lekshan stood in a fit of rage. "You idiot!" he screamed, ramming his fist into the table.

Adeline cleared her throat and interrupted. "Until a new Council has been chosen, I am in command. Captain," she said, turning to the man, "Arrest the former Councilors, as well as Jena Farlan."

This time, the Captain needed no encouragement. "Yes, madam," he said, saluting.

Jena screamed.

**-Hugo-**

The Avenger swept its tail to the side and hissed, but the voice of the howling wind nearly drowned the sound out. "The Spirits will rejoice tonight, then!" he shouted. In a heartbeat, the _saraak _turned to face the illuminated skylight and ran towards it. In three strides he had reached the window and swung himself down by the edge.

Yielding to the pressure of the lizard's scales, the glass broke and burst into shards as the Avenger disappeared below. The sound of clattering glass and screams rushed up from the room. Heart pounding, Hugo followed.

Glass shards bit into his hand where he planted his palm on the edge of the window, and he grimaced as he vaulted down to feel the ground rush up to meet him. He heard snarls and shouts of surprise as he landed with a thud, and he knelt among the shards of broken glass. Pressing his fist to the ground, he pushed to his feet and drew his knife.

She was staring at him.

**-Chris-**

She stood frozen in place, watching him. "Hugo…?"

The Lizard Clan warrior, scales sheathed in mud, snarled and flicked its snake-like tongue at her. "She-Devil; you cannot run from justice any longer. We've come for you." The Councilors screamed and shrank away, reforming behind the guardsmen as the Captain formed a wall of swords at the sides of the great table, advancing on the intruders. The lizard scoffed at them. "I will gut you each in turn, little ones." Its eyes fixed on Chris. "But you… You deserve a special fate." It turned to face Hugo. "Son of Chief Lucia, kill her!" it said, stabbing the broad-bladed knife towards her.

Chris barely heard his words. A chilling feeling had seized her blood, and she felt tears build in her eyes as she searched the boy's features. He stood rigid, silent as his chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Nothing on his face could contradict the simple truth of the knife in his hand.

He took a step forward and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry." He would not meet her eyes.

"You made me… How could you…" she began, but bit her lip as unbidden tears ran down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tore the sword from its sheath. _Damn you! I can't cry! I don't want you to see me cry!_

Her heart would not obey.

**-Hugo-**

_Why is she crying?_ Somehow, seeing the miserable look on her face made his heart ache. He cracked his neck, and turned to look at the Avenger. "Look at me." _I'm so sorry._

The _saraak _turned sideways, sweeping its tail across the floor as it cocked its head to the side to focus its eerily intense eyes on Hugo. "Why do you hesitate?"

He shook his head, stretching out his legs as he stepped gingerly towards the Avenger. "No, I've made up my mind… I just don't want to stab you in the back." The _saraak_'s eyes widened, and he snarled. Without a word, he charged.

The Avenger's knife clashed against Hugo's blade, and sparks flew. Voices cried out in shock. Hugo backed off, slipped on glass shards, and nearly fell. He caught his balance and ducked beneath a wild swing.

The Avenger snarled with rage as he pressed the attack. Glass crunched beneath his scaly feet, and each step kept him on the offensive, pushing Hugo back. Desperately, Hugo tried to circle around, away from the wall. A sudden lunge almost speared his stomach. He fell, hitting his head on the floor, and rolled onto his feet. The _saraak _was upon him.

Hugo parried the weapon, but saw the sweeping tail too late. The scaly trunk slammed into his feet and knocked him over, towards the corner. He activated his rune. The wind swept in from above and pushed him to the side. He scrambled back up, and ran sideways.

The Avenger roared. Hugo could nearly feel his breath on his neck. Stumbling against a chair, he vaulted over it and ducked. A blade passed over his head. He stabbed his knife upwards. The _saraak_'s blade came around and knocked his knife aside. A counterthrust nearly punched a hole in his throat. Hugo's blood froze.

He backed off, watching the Avenger for an opening. The _saraak_ threw the chair aside. It crashed and splintered against the wall. Hugo and the Avenger circled each other around the pile of broken glass. Guardsmen were fanning out around them, waiting.

"Hold! Do not interfere!" Chris called out from somewhere.

The Avenger's reptilian jaws opened to show rows of sharp teeth. He suddenly burst into motion. He rushed towards Hugo, flicking his blade from side to side with each step. Hugo held his ground until the last moment.

The lizard's knife flashed, and the tail moved. Hugo took one step back, and leapt over the thrashing tail. He parried a wild slash, and circled around. Reaching behind, he stabbed his knife. The weapon was parried, but Hugo pressed the attack, pushing the Avenger forward. Snarling, the _saraak _lost his balance, and Hugo pushed him against the wall.

The Avenger slammed into the wall with a grunt and a snarl. His tail flicked out, and wrapped around Hugo's leg. Yelping, he was pulled down, and glass shards raked his back as he slammed into the floor and slid several feet. His arm flailed and his knife was knocked aside.

"Hugo!" Chris called out. He heard footsteps.

Pain lanced through Hugo's body as he pushed to his knees. Roaring, the Avenger charged him. Panicked, he fumbled over glass pieces for his blade as the _saraak _leapt at him. He found the hilt, and a greenish glow enveloped his hand as his rune flared to life.

A blast of wind bore down on the Avenger's back, pushing it forward. The knife slashed wildly. Rolling across the glass, Hugo sprang to his feet just as the blade tore a shallow wound across his chest. The wind slammed the Avenger to the ground, and Hugo's own knife flashed as he stabbed down.

The blade bit through the scales with a sickening sound. He pushed down, piercing flesh, and the Avenger's desperate snarls began to cease. It grew still. Disoriented, he knelt down and felt his hands shake on the hilt. His body ached, and he struggled to keep his eyes from closing.

The room had gone silent. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at a woman standing over him. _Chris. That's Chris, _he thought idly. She looked frantic. _At least she's not crying anymore. Good._

She glanced back at something, and threw out her arms to her sides. "Halt! Get away from him. Touch him, and die!" She sounded angry.

Hugo shook the sleep from his eyes and stared at the Avenger. Motionless and still, the lizard lay dead on the floor with a nasty gash in its chest, where his knife was buried to the hilt. Shaking, he walked over on hands and knees and reached for the hilt, heart pounding. He half expected the corpse to leap from its resting place and take its vengeance on him. He blinked away tears building in his eyes as he gripped the hilt and yanked it free. Blood spurted from the gaping wound, and he averted his eyes, shivering. _Will the Spirits curse my name? I am a murderer. _His eyes passed across the Avenger's broad-bladed knife where it rested on among the glass shards near a lifeless arm. He felt sick to the stomach, and even as he gripped the bloody knife tightly, he felt guilt rise.

He turned to look at Chris. Somewhere along the line, she had sheathed her sword, and she stared back at him with a collected look. If not for the marks on her cheeks, he might have doubted if she had truly cried a minute ago. He raked a hand through his hair as he fumbled for words. "Are you… okay?" _I didn't mean to hurt you. No, I can't say that._

Chris' eyes widened for a moment, and her mouth worked in silence before she nodded. "Yes. I am fine. Truly."

Hugo shrugged the feelings of guilt from his mind. "Good. Because I feel like an Earth Rune just burst in my head." He staggered.

Her arms reached out to catch him as he collapsed. The warmth of her hands was the last thing he felt before his vision went dark. "Everything is fine," she whispered.

He fell into a dreamless sleep.

**-Chris-**

Under different circumstances, Chris would not have revisited the cell where she had been tortured by Alron. The dim light and the dripping wet stone, the chains and cruel implements on the walls were all part of the oppressive atmosphere that brought back memories—thoughts and images that she would just as soon erase from her mind.

Jena squirmed on the floor. Ten hours since the confrontation in the Council Hall. Nine hours since Chris' appearance had turned a bloodthirsty mob into an exultant crowd, celebrating the news of the Council's dissolution. Jena's chains had been removed, but she still seemed restrained on the damp stone. Sobbing, she bowed and scraped before Chris. "Please; I was just following orders! I-I didn't want to do it, but they threatened me, and—"

"Silence," Chris said coldly. _No more deceit; no more schemes. The time for duplicity is at an end._ "I do not wish to hear your lies."

"B-But, please…! Have mercy!" The woman threw herself at her feet, and looked up at her with pleading eyes.

Chris leaned down to grab a fistful of the woman's hair, yanking her head up to meet her eyes. "Swordsmanship," she said, "In the process of teaching you to kill swiftly, also teaches you many ways to do harm without killing."

Chris paused, and Jena whimpered in her grip, mumbling something incoherent as she shook her head. Somewhere in her heart, Chris felt chilled at what she was about to do. "I remember those techniques well, but I seem to have forgotten how to kill." Chris turned her face. "Hugo, do you perchance remember?"

He stood leaning against the wall behind her, but now straightened. He cocked his head pensively.

"Give me a few hours," he said, "To refresh my memory."

**-Hugo-**

_The horizon seemed to churn and roil as a sea of shadow enveloped mountains and forests and swallowed them whole. When he looked at the ground, he found that the earth was cracking and fracturing, causing fissures to appear and grow into chasms as the rock fell away like earth from an uprooted tree. Within moments, only an island of dirt covered with parched grass and wilted flowers remained, and he stood at its center._

_He felt a presence behind him, and immediately knew that it was Chris; knew that she was naked. Turning his eyes on the ground again, he saw a rivulet of blood flow through a small fissure in the earth. For a time, it seemed that the flow was growing stronger, but as he blinked, the blood receded into the dry soil._

_Warmth was building in his body, flowing from his core, and even as he stared at the desolate horizon, he felt his heat outgrow the sorrow._

_This time, he turned to look at her._

_And more besides._

**-?-**

Standing on the dais, surveying the altar bathed in the intense glow of the burning emblem, the Perpetuator smiled. The familiar pulsating sensation on his forehead confirmed the resonance between the two powers, but the nature of his presence made a true connection impossible. _So close, yet so far, _he mused.

He stepped across patterns of crude etchings as he walked closer towards the altar. The proximity, however, artificial, sent a frisson of excitement through his body. He bent his head to look at the floating emblem from each direction, and traced each line of the symbol in his mind. He nodded. _The residue still remains, even though the rune has reasserted its once lost independence. Fascinating._ He ran a hand through his short hair and sighed with nostalgic pleasure.

"My firstborn son; how long has it been? Fifty years? It is time to awaken, and reclaim your birthright." Raising his open palm towards the altar, the Perpetuator activated the rune on his forehead and sent a ripple of animation, resuscitation, towards the burning emblem.

Echoing against the True Fire Rune upon the altar, the call to life recoiled, and raced towards its destination.

Beneath the earth, a buried soul stirred.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Thus concludes the three-chapter story arc that was originally intended as a single chapter. Writing these chapters was an experiment in plot construction and climax building, and I hope that the end result was entertaining.

**Next Chapter:**

Having secured the power base necessary to resist the Harmonian forces, Chris and Hugo travel through the Grasslands to reach the front. Unable to act openly, they are forced to hide their identities among the least likely people. Already weary of pretense, Chris now has to masquerade as… a wife? Next time, in Blazing Waves, Burning Rain!


	15. A New Journey

"Tensions have always run high between the tribal clans known colloquially as the Grasslanders, and the Confederacy of Zexen. Among the more peculiar sub-cultures in the region, a group calling themselves the Wind Seekers are of special note. Existing on the cusp between the Grasslands and Zexen, these people have grown to meld the spiritual beliefs of the tribal clans with the organized religion of the Zexens, creating something new; something of their own. Ironically, while such an amalgam of cultures could serve as an outstretched hand—an olive branch—calling for peace between the Confederacy and the Grasslands, history has seen these people marginalized, even shunned. Like many half-breeds, the Wind Seekers find only prejudice on both sides of their cultural heritage."

—Excerpt from _Travelogue of the West_, by Graham of Tinto

**Chapter XV: A New Journey**

* * *

**-Hugo-**

The light of the afternoon sun filtered through the smudged windows on his left-hand side as Hugo stepped inside the Guild Hall. He paused, and looked out over the foyer with a strange, disorienting feeling. The polished marble tiles were draped in the long shadows of empty suits of armor lined up along the walls, and liveried men and women passed across the floor around him, quiet but for the clack of boots and shoes against marble and wood. Had nothing changed? For a moment, he could almost imagine that the events of last night had not transpired. That they might have been a dream.

The sound of a man clearing his throat tore Hugo from his thoughts. He turned to see a balding man sporting a handlebar mustache eyeing him with a quizzical look and a distasteful curl on his lips. "May I help you… sir?" The last bit seemed a hesitant afterthought. The man's hands were coupled behind his back as he scanned Hugo's Karayan outfit with an increasingly dismayed look on his face.

"Uh, yes," Hugo said. "I want to see Chris." He glanced around behind the man, vainly hoping to spot her somewhere and save himself the trouble of exploring the building. All he could see were servants and citizens.

"Chris, sir…?" the man said.

"That's right." Hugo added a vigorous nod for emphasis. Silence passed between them for a moment, and then Hugo said, "Oh, you don't know her?" _There are too many people in this place! I assumed everyone would know her, _Hugo thought. "She's a knight, with silvery hair. Have you seen her?"

The servant's eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, but the surprise never reached his face. "You are referring to Captain Lightfellow, sir? The Silver Maiden?"

"Right, the Silver Maiden. Though I don't think she likes being called that," he chuckled. "She's supposed to be around here. Where is she?"

"The Silver Maiden," a new voice called out harsh and firm, "Is in the chapel, and you won't even get close." The clatter of metal armor accompanied the voice as it drew closer from a side corridor, and a man stepped into the hall from a shaded threshold.

"Sir Borus!" the servant exclaimed. "There is a… a boy here asking for—"

"I heard," the knight said. As his face came into the light and his eyes turned on Hugo, both seemed to recognize each other at once. Borus' eyes widened, and his hand reached for the sword at his side.

Hugo danced back in time to see the knight's sword leap from its sheath. "Spirits' curse, calm down! I'm just here to see Chris!" he said.

Rage twisted the knight's features. "How _dare _you use that name, barbarian?" he spat. "You have some nerve coming here, sneaking around Vinay like an assassin!"

"Assassin?!" Hugo shouted. "I just walked through the front door!" His cheeks burned as he recalled how he climbed through the window into Chris' bedroom some nights before. _I'm not an assassin, _he thought.

"This is a ruse!" Borus said. "Guards! Arrest this intruder!"

Hugo backed off as he glanced several guardsmen approaching fast from all sides. "Are you insane? Didn't she tell you what happened?"

"I know very well what happened, barbarian," Borus growled, walking towards him with sword drawn.

Hugo gritted his teeth in frustration. "May the Spirits forsake you!" He turned, bumping into a pedestal and knocking a colorful vase onto the floor. The crash of pottery drowned out the shouts behind him as he ran. Leaping over a bench, he nearly bowled into a young woman coming through the door. She shrieked, and a basket of bread rained down on his shoulder as he pushed through, grunting an apology.

Looking back one last time as he left the shadows of the Guild Hall for the bright afternoon sun, he saw the furious knight trying to push through a throng of servants making their way into the building. Within moments, Hugo had rounded a corner and snuck into a back alley.

With a groan, he flopped down against the wall and muttered a curse under his breath. _Spirits' mercy, what stubborn fools!_

**-Chris-**

"Milady, everything is prepared for the ceremony," Percival said.

"Excellent. Thank you," Chris said, rising from the stool. "I will take it from here."

With a sad look on his face, Percival nodded. "We will pray for Sir Roland's memory in the meantime."

"Yes. Good." She nodded slowly. With a heavy heart, she entered the chapel through the side door, smoothing the chafing skirts of her regal armor. Passing between the pews, she climbed the dais and knelt before the altar. She barely noticed the robed priests who passed in silence through the chamber.

Clasping her hands upon the polished stone surface, she closed her eyes, and began to recite Sir Roland's requiem in her mind.

**-Hugo-**

"Refresh my memory: why exactly are we sneaking around on the rooftops in the middle of the afternoon, did you say?" Nash asked.

Hugo spared the man a glance as he ducked through a narrow window and emerged onto a network of sturdy rafters near the ceiling of the chapel. "I didn't say."

"Precisely," Nash said his voice lowering to a whisper as he crawled through the window behind him.

Leaning down to steady himself against the wooden beams, Hugo squinted at the marble floor beneath them. _Forty, maybe fifty feet? Too far to fall, anyway. At least I've got the rune, just in case. _He convinced himself it would make a difference. He kept his eyes fixed on the rafters as he crawled forward to get a better look inside. "Listen; we need to rescue Chris again."

"Really," Nash said.

"Really. They damn knights have her locked up, _again_."

"Oh. The knights have locked the captain up… in here?"

Hugo turned his head to frown at Nash. "Yes. That's what the grouchy one said. What's-his-name… Borus." His eyes darted below, and he lost his balance.

For a moment, his breath caught. Hands nailed about the edges of the wooden beam upon which he perched, Hugo heaved a sigh of relief, and then kept crawling ahead.

"Let's clarify your statement, shall we?" Nash said as they slithered across the rafters like some clumsy snakes, "Sir Borus Redrum, of the Zexen Knights, informed you that Lady Chris Lightfellow, Captain of the Zexen Knights, had been taken prisoner, and is being kept in this very room?"

Hugo paused. "Well, sort of. I don't know why they'd keep her in here…" Grabbing a tight hold, Hugo inspected the chamber below, and as his eyes took in the sights of the chapel, he was struck by the opulence of its furnishings. Row upon row of pews with elaborately carved backs stood on glossy white marble tiles, stretching out to either side of a central aisle decorated with a luxurious blue carpet. Intricate stone statues loomed over a large dais near the far wall, and the walls were decorated with myriad projections; busts of winged people extending their arms invitingly. Light filtered into the massive room through the stained-glass windows on the left-hand side, flooding the furnishings with an eerily colorful glow.

"Huh. What is this place, anyway?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Nash began, pausing to grunt disdainfully as he tore his sleeve on a loose nail, "This is where the Zexen elite come to spend time with their most exalted imaginary friend."

Hugo shot him a quizzical look.

Nash looked up from his ruined shirt and grimaced. "It's a temple dedicated to the Zexen Goddess."

"Oh."

Nash fiddled with the frayed cloth of his sleeve for a few seconds before shaking his head in dismay. "This had better be worth it…" he muttered under his breath.

Shuffling forward along the rafters, Hugo turned to glance at Nash. "Don't you have temples in Harmonia?"

"Yes, but we prefer our gods in the flesh," the man said with a smirk. A look of distaste spread on his face as he brushed cobwebs from his jacket. "Speaking of flesh—hides, that is, and more specifically the preserving of our hides—are you sure you want to do this?" The conspiratorial look on Nash's face had faded into something more closely resembling boredom as the man took in the sights of the ground floor without concern.

"Why? You want out? I can do this myself."

Nash looked almost hurt. "Heavens, no! We're breaking into a chapel. I love it. This is like my academy days all over again." A big grin spread on his lips.

Hugo shook his head. _I can't figure him out, _he thought.

Advancing past a supporting beam, Hugo took a firm hold of the rafters and leaned down to get a closer look. The footsteps of several figures down below echoed through the reverent silence, but Hugo recognized none of the people that paced below. He gazed ahead, past row upon row of pews, until his eyes fell on the raised dais against the far wall. There, kneeling before a stone podium, sat a lithe, armored figure with pale hair. She was abandoned, and unguarded.

"There she is," he whispered. Biting his lip, he glanced sideways before sliding over to a ledge by the wall. His hands trembled with effort as he held onto the rafters. "I'm going down. Are you coming?"

Nash crawled up beside him and planted a supporting hand on his shoulder. He gazed down, and as Hugo gauged the thoughtful look on the man's face, Nash's mouth twitched momentarily.

"Actually, I think I'll just sit back and watch. I'll, uh, cover your back."

Hugo nodded grimly. "That's a good idea." He noted that Chris' eyes were closed where she knelt before the podium. He exhaled with relief when he saw a faint motion. _What kind of punishment is this?_

Taking a deep breath, Hugo grabbed hold of a rough supporting beam, and nodded at Nash before sliding down the corner of the room. His eyes roamed the large chamber, fearful of being discovered by the menacing robed figures wandering the chapel. The shadows sheltered him from view.

Touching down on the marble tiles with a dull thud, Hugo quickly ducked down behind the end of a pew, wincing at a splinter lodged in his hand. He suckled at the smarting finger as he glanced up, and saw Chris stir and look out towards his position. She seemed distraught, but unharmed. Seeing nothing, her attention returned to the podium, and with a big sigh, she closed her eyes anew.

Heart pounding, Hugo ran along the floor, keeping his head beneath the back of the pew, before reaching the dais. He crawled soundlessly up the steps and emerged behind the podium. Rearing his head up, he slowly placed his fingers on Chris' locked hands.

Chris nearly fell backwards. Her eyes popped open with shock, and her mouth fell open when she saw him. "What is… What are you…" she stammered.

Hugo motioned for her to hush. "I'm here to get you out."

Chris sat back up, but she shook her head slowly, as if denying his presence in her mind. A long moment passed before she settled for a question: "How did you get in here?"

Hugo shrugged. "It's becoming a habit."

Chris glanced back towards the aisle. She smiled and nodded at someone in the distance before turning to face Hugo with a worried look. "You must not let them see you in here."

"I know," Hugo said, feeling insulted. He could not help but wonder at her guards—how those feeble men could keep her locked up inside this place, he could not imagine. _Maybe they're rune bearers, or worse…_ It would be best not to test them, he decided.

"Quick," he said, grabbing her wrist, "We can climb up the rafters and get out that way."

A look of utter disbelief came over Chris' face. "Have you gone quite mad?"

"No, you'll be fine. It's not dangerous," he said, gesturing at the ceiling.

"That is not what I mean. What are you doing here?"

Hugo frowned. "Don't be so damned proud. A simple 'thank you' would be nice." He tugged at her, but she yanked her hand back and freed herself from his grip.

"Thank you?!" she said, standing up with a glare and hands balled into fists. "What exactly…" She glanced back, flushed, and lowered the tone of her voice to a whisper. "What exactly is it that I should give thanks for?"

Hugo wrung his hands in frustration, and then sighed. "Fine." _Why can women never admit it when they need help? _"Why do you keep walking into their traps, anyway?"

Chris' head tilted dangerously. "Pardon me?" she said, each word an icy dagger.

A new voice echoed from down the aisle. "What is going on in here…?!"

Chris groaned as she turned towards the approaching man, and Hugo glanced between her and the rafters. _No time! If she had her sword…_

Without a moment's hesitation, he leapt across the podium. His knife left its sheath even as he took up a protective position in front of her. "She's coming with me," he growled.

For the second time that day, someone nearly fell at the sight of him. The gaudily dressed man gasped loudly, steadying himself on a jeweled crosier as he righted the embroidered white hat atop his head. "What is this?!" he shouted, smoothing his open robes in a huff. "A barbarian in the Goddess' chapel? Guards!" His voice rose to a shriek.

"High Priest," Chris started, motioning for him to calm down, "Please, this is all a misunderstanding…"

With a slam that echoed through the chamber, the tall wooden doors at the entrance of the chapel were swung open, and the clank and clatter of iron mail sounded the approach of two knights.

"Milady!" Borus cried out. The man broke into a sprint slowed only by the weight of his armor. Percival followed at a light jog.

Hugo sighed. "Here we go again…" His blood pumped as he twisted the knife in his hand from side to side.

"Enough," Chris said, pushing Hugo aside to take center stage on the dais. "High Priest, there is no need for violence. Sirs Borus and Percival, stand down your weapons."

Hugo gaped at her. "You think that'll work?"

She leveled a cool gaze at him. "I am quite certain."

"And you're asking me if I'm insane," he muttered.

Hugo watched in surprise as the knights sheathed their weapons. Their movements ground to a slow walk. Borus did not look pleased, and kept a hand planted firmly on his sword, even as Percival watched Hugo with a look of amused disbelief.

Hugo turned to Chris. "Am I missing something?" For some reason, he thought he heard the sound of faint laughter coming from somewhere overhead.

"Evidently," Chris said with a small sigh. Closing her eyes for a moment, she shook her head. "High Priest, I am sorry for this. This young man was under the impression that I had been captured…"

"Yeah, where'd I ever get that idea," Hugo muttered under his breath.

Chris shot him a dangerous look. "…and that I was being held captive in the chapel." Her back straightened and she stuck her nose skyward, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Somehow."

Hugo sheathed his knife indignantly. "Look; that ironhead"—he pointed to Borus—"said you were in the chapel, and he wouldn't let me in. I just busted you out of a cell after another knight put you there. What was I supposed to think?"

Chris' eyes flashed with anger. "Perhaps you were supposed to think _at all_. Did you ask why you were not admitted?"

"I didn't get a chance! Your mad dog almost gutted me for even mentioning your name!"

"How dare you!" Borus shouted.

"Silence, Sir Borus," Chris said, waving a hand at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on Hugo. "You exaggerate. I am certain he was merely being protective. You were not allowed inside because I was holding a private ceremony for a knight fallen in battle. A ceremony that you interrupted, I might add."

Hugo could almost hear Borus growl, but ignored it. "Exaggerated? Yeah, right. He would've killed me if he'd been a faster runner." Despite the anger, a sense of shame was building inside. _I interrupted a burial rite. __Damn__… She's right; I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Why didn't Nash say anything?_ He directed an annoyed thought at the smug Harmonian perched on the rafters above.

"You should've said something earlier," he tried lamely, feeling his cheeks redden.

"I should have? Well, forgive me; evidently I was too preoccupied with the utter confusion that came with the realization that the person I least expected to see in this chapel—aside from Leon Silverberg or Hikusaak—had snuck in through the rafters." She sounded almost frantic as her voice built with each word. Pausing to catch her breath, she searched his face for an explanation. Under the warmth of his burning cheeks, Hugo could not find the words.

"Through the rafters!" she exclaimed again. "Good Goddess' candor… This is not happening," she murmured.

"This is an outrage," the High Priest said, "A barbarian in the Goddess' chapel… He must leave at once!"

Borus nodded vigorously. His eyes seemed intent on burning holes in Hugo's head. "You'll pay for this, barbarian! You've disturbed the Silver Maiden's sanctity by breaking into this place!"

"Sanctity?" Hugo snorted. "That's ridiculous. We've slept together."

Borus seemed to choke, and he gasped for air. Chris' face bloomed with crimson, and her eyes fluttered close for a second.

"What? What'd I say?"

"Are you certain that is what you meant to say, Hugo?" Chris asked.

"Well, sure. We've spent the night together in the same tent… Well, house. Isn't that what it's called?"

"Not quite," Percival chimed in. He sounded amused, if anything.

Borus seethed as he fondled the hilt of his sword. "That's bad enough!"

Hugo sighed. _I'll never understand the ironheads. _"It's not like there was anything improper about it. You even had a night garment on when we were in my room, right? I didn't, but that's fine because I'm a man. Right?"

He arched his brow, trying to get an answer out of Chris. To his surprise, the woman was watching him with the most peculiar look of stunned incredulity. Her mouth gaped open, and her eyes bulged from their sockets as she stared in silence.

"…Right?"

Once again, Hugo thought he heard a soft but persistent laugh from somewhere overhead.

Irksome as it was, he tried to ignore it.

**-Borus-**

Borus found the captain already dressed in traveler's clothes, and she was just lacing up her tall brown boots as he approached the room. He hesitated, watching her for a moment through the doorway, before rapping his knuckles against the frame and entering. She still wore her hair braided close against her head.

To his great shame, the sight of her stirred the anger he had felt before. He could not shake the image of that filthy barbarian doing… things… to her. It was simply _not right_.

_She is too good for him, _he thought. _Too good for anyone, _he added ruefully.

"Ah. Sir Borus," she said, looking up at him, laces still in hand.

"Let me help you with that…" Borus said, timidly approaching and kneeling.

"No," she said curtly. Shying away, she quickly finished lacing up the boot and stood to stretch out and face him.

Standing in silence for a moment, he felt shame well up. _I still can't believe she's alive. _Though something remained of the initial sense of joy and relief, dark thoughts had clouded the elation._ If she were not at Iksay, I've confessed to this 'Chimera' instead. I gained absolution from a contemptible imposter. What does that mean? _Now more than ever, the anxiety was building within. If he could only work up the courage to—

"Is something the matter?" Chris asked.

"No."

"Very well. I want you to be more respectful towards Hugo."

"What?" Borus blurted out. His eyes darted back to her face—in breeches, her features were all the more acute. _She calls him by name?_ His thoughts darkened.

"We owe much to that young man," she said. "I do not wish for him to feel unwelcome."

Borus' eyes nearly leaped from their sockets. "Milady…! Are you serious?"

"I understand your apprehensions, Sir Borus. Your concern is noted, and appreciated, but Hugo is not our enemy. Surely you have come to the same conclusion after what has happened."

"I… I see." Shaking with rage, he tried not to let it show. "He showed no respect for the ceremony. He showed no respect for Sir Roland, who was slain by his very kin."

"We have said our farewells, Sir Borus," she said slowly. "I understand how you feel, but there is no time. We are at war."

Borus bit his tongue, but could not contain the words. "Yes! We're at war with the barbarians!"

Chris was silent for a moment. After a second, Borus felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned with a jerk to see Percival shaking his head at him. "The captain is right, Borus."

"Why did we allow this boy inside the Goddess' chapel?! He should die for trespassing on the funerary rites!"

"Do not be so quick, Sir Borus," the Captain said, raising her voice, "To arrange for another funeral." Something fierce had come over her face, and Borus was startled at the sight. It was directed at him. There was a silence between them for several seconds, and then she sighed. "Enough of this. Hugo is a boy, and not of Zexen. He could not have known what he interrupted. Yes, we are at war, but not with the… the Grasslanders. We are at war with Harmonia, and we _must _stand with the Grasslanders, even if it galls us."

"I will never stand with the barbarians!" Borus spat. "Never! Have you forgotten Sir Galahad?!"

"Borus!" Sir Percival gasped. Borus regretted the words even before he saw the look of hurt pass over the Captain's face.

"I assure you," she began—

"I… I didn't mean…"

"I have _not _forgotten," she said icily. "This conversation ends here. Hugo and I will travel to Chisha together. We leave today."

_Together? _Borus thought. He felt a rage like poison in his veins. "Why?"

"We will negotiate a truce with Chief Lucia."

Borus tried in vain to hold his tongue. "Milady, you can't be serious! I can't leave you to a barbarian!" His heart pounded, warning him that the frustrated look on the Captain's face was fast approaching something dangerous.

"You leave me to no one," she said. "I am a knight, and your captain; not some trophy. You would do well to keep that in mind. In addition, you will no longer refer to the Grasslanders as 'barbarians.'"

Borus almost backed away under the Captain's withering glare, and he fought the urge to carry on with the argument. Frustrated, he knelt before her and bowed his head. "Yes, Milady." _She is right. I am her knight, above all else, _he reminded himself. _That hasn't changed._

"I expect you to carry out my orders in the meantime. There is much to be done for the defense of Zexen. We must focus our attention on this."

"Yes, milady," Borus and Percival said at once.

"Sir Percival will travel to Iksay in order to bring Sir Salome up to speed about the current situation. Then, you will assist him in coordinating our defenses, while keeping up appearances to ensure that our enemies do not become aware of our recent actions. It will be as if I truly died. For now."

_Perhaps it is I who have died, _Borus thought morbidly, _and gone to Hell. _"What of me?" he asked.

"Sir Borus; you will remain in Vinay, and ensure that the fragile order we have brought about here does not collapse. You will report directly to Head Councilor Adeline, and act as commander of the knights in my absence."

"Milady, I would do more good at your side. Your task will be the most risky."

"That is noted, but you will remain in Vinay. The enemy believes me to be dead. They will not expect me."

Borus' heart sank as he nodded.

After the captain had left, Borus stood alone with Sir Percival. He faced the other man with a frown.

"Why didn't you back me up?" he wondered.

"Because she's right," he said with an apologetic shrug. "You're too upset, Borus. You're not seeing things the way they are right now."

"Bullshit." Borus colored as soon as the word was out of his mouth.

Percival chuckled. "See?"

Borus paced about the room, struggling not to draw in the lingering scent of the captain. "You're fine leaving her with the barbarian?" He stabbed a finger at Sir Percival's torso. "You're fine with that?"

Sir Percival waved his arm away and shook his head. "Like she said, we're not _leaving her_ to anyone. She can take care of herself. Besides, if Hugo wanted to harm her, he's had plenty of opportunities before." He paused for a moment, glancing out the door, and then continued, "That lad's an odd one. Did you know that he's got Dunan blood? He carries the sword of a Highland General!"

Borus' brow furrowed. "No doubt pillaged from the war."

"Not according to Hugo. And remember, the Karayans fought _alongside_ Highland, eighteen years ago."

"I wouldn't put it past them to loot their fallen allies," Borus sneered.

Sir Percival shrugged. "Anyway, I'll be leaving within the hour."

Borus blinked, and then nodded. "Right. I'm sure you're anxious to make sure your family's alright."

Sir Percival nodded. "I've got to check up on them. My sister has a way of getting into trouble even without help." He smiled, but Borus saw through the gesture. He was worried. _And with good cause, _he thought. _I was there to fight for Iksay, but Percival must've been worried sick hearing about the attack._

"Good luck," he said. They shook hands, and he watched Sir Percival leave the room. Alone, he sagged down onto the bed with a sigh. His thoughts could not leave the boy. "I owe nothing to him," he muttered under his breath.

_Come what may, I'll do what's best for the Captain. That's all._

**-Hugo-**

A cool breeze raced across the slanted rooftops on the hillside, sweeping over wharfs and piers and tugging at Chris' braided hair as she stood watching the ships roll in and out of the harbor on a restless seascape. Once again, she had doffed her armor and now wore snug black breeches and a sturdy but all-too pristine green jacket. It hardly looked like it had been worn at all, much less stained by muddy roads. Even the thigh-high boots of dun leather were shined and spotless.

"You're going like that?" he called out as he ran up to stand beside her.

Chris turned to face him, swallowing down something before speaking. "Yes. Why?" He grinned as she wiped traces of food from the side of her mouth, still chewing.

He patted her on the shoulder. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at the half-eaten object in her hand.

She seemed momentarily confused, and perhaps a little embarrassed.

"Oh. It's a fruit called 'banana.' Our merchants import them from Alderedai, a country across the ocean. Try one." She grabbed one of the bent yellow fruits from atop a barrel and tossed it to him.

Cautiously, Hugo took a bite out of the thick skin, and felt a sour taste. Chris' laughter was a chime. "What?" he wondered.

"You have to peel it, first. I will show you."

Hugo watched with curiosity as she ate the banana. Suddenly, he was reluctantly reminded of something she had done in his dreams last night. With a quick turn, he faced away from her, hiding his coloring cheeks as his heart began to pound. _I shouldn't be thinking about that. I shouldn't be having the dreams, at all._

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

Too guilty to face her with his affliction, Hugo shook his head, but did not turn. "No; it's nothing. I just, uh, got something in my throat."

"Really? You hardly had a bite…"

"Uh, I'm a quick eater." Looking for an excuse, he desperately and inexpertly peeled the skin of the banana, reducing much of the fruit to mush.

"You are not choking, are you?" she asked with concern. Suddenly she was very close, ducking under his shoulder to get a better look at him. Flushing, Hugo coughed and turned sideways to escape the heady scent of lavender.

"It would be a fell blow to diplomatic relations if Chief Lucia's son choked on food proffered by the captain of the knights…" she said with a smirk.

"Right," Hugo said, feeling suddenly cocky, "Maybe you should take a look in there, just to be sure." The words had barely left his mouth when he began to feel the mortifying feeling of embarrassment. He added a laugh, and said, "Just a joke."

Her cheeks took on a rosy glow. With a small cough, she looked away. After a moment, she pointed towards a ship preparing to set sail along one of the dockside's major quays. "Have you ever been on a ship?" she asked.

Hugo followed her eyes, watching sailors and dockhands mill about, loading cargo and loosening ropes. "No."

"Ah. Of course not. How could you have?" she blurted out. She cleared her throat, and slowed her speech. "Lest you think I have been captured again, I should explain my pretext for coming here." She paused for a moment, stealing a glance at his face—he thought he saw a measure of smugness as she took in his embarrassed grimace. "Watching the ships has always helped me think. Adeline faces a difficult first time as Head Councilor. With the war, there is much that must be delicately handled. Not least of which is that she must secure treaties with the Alderedai government to insure a steady inflow of goods."

"Why's that so important?" The raucous shouts of cheery sailors sounded down the street, drawing Hugo's eyes momentarily. Fragments of bawdy songs and loud laughter reached them from the taverns along the waterfront as they stood feeling the weight of the breeze on the pier.

Chris made a tight-lipped smile. "Once the Harmonians enter the Grasslands, our supply lines with Tinto and Dunan will be severed, and relations with Alderedai will become integral to our chances of winning this war."

"What's so special about Alderedai?" Hugo asked with a shrug.

Chris stared out at sea as she replied. "They have not yet learned to fear the Harmonians."

"So? What's this got to do with the war?"

Chris turned to face him with a look of disapproval. "Do you not realize what this means? The inflow of produce and other victuals, not to mention the many luxury items the people of Zexen take for granted, would otherwise grind to a halt. Traditionally, Zexen relies on imported harvest from the Dunan area to keep our stockpiles adequate. Our people would starve."

Hugo tilted his head to one side and crossed his arms over his breast. "_Your_ people, maybe. Grasslanders don't need others to give them food."

Chris' brow rose. "Give? It is no charity affair. We trade for our goods."

Hugo shrugged. "So what? You're still relying on someone else."

"No civilized nation can survive in a vacuum, Hugo."

His eyes narrowed, and he snorted. "So you're saying Grasslanders aren't civilized?"

Looking suddenly weary, Chris slowly shook her head. "That is different. You Grasslanders are a collection of simple tribes without any formal leadership."

Hugo gawked at her. "What?" He took one step closer and gestured indignantly. "Then what's my mother? _Simple tribes?!_" In the background, the shouting and singing was growing louder, but Hugo scarcely noticed.

Gesturing with a look of building frustration on her face, Chris was just about to speak—

"Hey maties, lass ho!" someone shouted. A cheer erupted; "Ahoy!" and laughter followed in the wake. Hugo and Chris turned to see a group of swarthy sailors stagger towards them, arms gripping each other's shoulders and hands holding onto half-empty bottles of cheap rum. Their eyes were fixed on Chris as they approached.

Hugo grunted. "Let's get out of here," he muttered, but as he looked at Chris, he saw disapproval and bemusement on her face. "Chris?"

"What is this nonsense?" she said to herself.

"Hey!" the lead sailor exclaimed. He was a broad-shouldered man with a wild mane of brown hair framing his round face. Raising a rum bottle in the air, he separated from the crowd and jogged over towards Chris with a laugh as his friends egged him on.

Hugo frowned, scanning his surroundings. Crates and barrels were stacked along the sides of the pier, but as the sailors approached, merry as they seemed, they were ringing in the two of them at the end of the pier.

The man made to speak, a stupid grin on his face, but Chris forestalled him.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "Do you have business with me?"

Hugo groaned inwardly at her regal posture and the imperious look on her face. She looked every bit the knight captain, but without her sword and armor, her alluring features would make her no more than a strumpet in the eyes of the sailors. _I'd better do something. _"Look—" he began.

Chris silenced him with an annoyed gesture.

"Hey, girl, yer lookin' for a good time, right? You don't wanna spend the evenin' with your little brother 'ere, do ya?" His friends exploded with laughter, as boisterously as only drunken fools could. Half paying attention to the spectacle, the men began to crowd around the crates and barrels of the pier, leaning and slouching against them. One man dropped his bottle in the water with a curse, and had to be restrained by his friends before he leapt in after it.

"I have no time for nonsense," Chris said. "Remove yourselves."

The sailor ignored her. He pulled closer, so close that Hugo could smell the rum on his breath. Chris' hand stroked her waist, searching but not finding a sword. "Yer pretty, honey. You could score big points with ol' Burls 'ere." Burping, he set his bottle down on a nearby crate, patting it affectionately. "You look like you've gots some great knockers. How 'bout you show 'em to the gang 'ere, 'n' we'll take real good care of ye." A short, snorting laugh escaped his big grin. His friends cheered loudly, echoing his request.

Hugo felt his face darken, but Chris seemed unperturbed. She glanced at her knuckles. "I think not. I am not an eager pugilist."

Burls looked confused. "Huh?"

"Listen to all 'em big words!" one man shouted. "Don't ye get tired from all them big— woah!" The man suddenly tripped and fell backwards to crash into a pile of boxes. Moments later, he was snoring.

"C'mon," Burls said, "Just let me have a little peak, maybe a nice feel. They look soft 'n' nice," he said, snickering oafishly.

Hugo's cheeks burned. "Chris—"

"Soft?" She made fists with her hands and half raised them. "Hardly. Unless you and your… friends… remove yourselves, I shalllet you all get an excellent taste of my 'knockers.'"

A loud cheer rose among the conscious sailors. Burls' face lit up like a lantern restocked with oil.

"Spirits!" Hugo exclaimed, stepping in front of her. "She didn't mean to say that; she's confused!" His blood pumped, but to his shame, he could not say how much was anxiety and how much was his stirred imagination.

Burls slapped his hands down on Hugo's shoulders and locked a set of eager, serious eyes on him. "Little bro, don't fret! You'll get your taste too! Yer Burls' bestest friend, 'member?"

"I love Vinay del Zexay!" another sailor shouted in exhilaration.

"Hugo? What are you saying?" Chris said with a frown. "They expect me to just lie down and take it!"

Another cheer erupted among Burls' crew.

Hugo pushed aside Burls' strong hands and clawed his fingers through his own hair. He turned to look at Chris and, after a moment, raised his eyes to where her face was. His cheeks burned. "Look, just don't speak, okay? Just be silent from now on!" Watching the baffled look of confusion mix with anger on her face, he herded Burls away from her position, towards the other sailors. "Listen," he said, glancing back to make sure she was out of earshot as he spoke in a low voice. "Here's the deal. You probably think you've got it made, with a girl that beautiful and eager, right?"

The sailors cheered. A bald, gap-toothed man grinned and ruffled Hugo's hair. "I never knew them Zexens got so dark-skinned," he muttered.

Hugo suppressed a sigh and hurried on. "It gets better. If you pile your stones just right, you'll be in for a night you'll never forget." He glanced around at the unfamiliar faces. "You all listening?"

Their voices muted, they nodded.

"Take a good look at that," he said, gesturing at Chris without turning. "Not only is she nuts for you, but she's got two younger sisters."

A murmur of gasps rushed through the crowd assembled around him. "How younger?" someone asked.

"Uh, just right," Hugo said. He raised his eyebrows and made a cupping motion at his breast, which elicited knowing grins from the sailors. "Also," he said, "They're twins."

The gasps rose to giddy giggles, and the sailors patted each others backs and shoulders with excitement. "Are her sisters comin' tonight?" asked a man, his eyes wide open with anticipation.

"Uh huh."

"I love Zexen!" one man shouted, hands raised in triumph.

"Wait," another man shot in, "Who're the twins?"

Hugo blinked. "Uh, they all are."

"Don't that mean they're tripods or something?"

One of the others swatted the man over the head. "That's triplets, ye idjit!"

"Then how could they be younger?"

Hugo shrugged, thanking the Spirits for the overpowering scent of rum on their breaths. These beavers would go for the nearest tree. "They're all younger."

A chorus of "oh"s and "ah"s rang out.

"So, three sisters," Hugo said, raising three fingers. "Uh, and they'll all be wearing skimpy dancer's outfits. I mean skimpy like barely clothes. Because, they're, uh, dancers. You wanna see them dance?"

A cry of agreement rose from the sailors. Burls grabbed his waist and lifted him into the air.

Hugo glanced back at Chris, who looked about to spring to his aid. He shook his head slightly in her direction, and she halted. "Great. But this is all on one condition." He waited a moment for the message to sink in. The sailors watched him with bated breath. He nodded. "You need to go straight to, uh… You see that building over there?"

"The Gilded Oar?!" one man shouted, excitement boiling over.

Giddy with excitement, Burls jostled Hugo like a rag doll. "Right. That's where you'll want to go. You need to wait there while me and my, uh, sister, go to fetch our sisters, and um, prepare for the night. For dancing."

Another cheer. The sailors started back down the pier towards the street, dragging their sleeping comrade with them. "So, uh… You need to set me down."

Burls laughed apologetically, letting go of Hugo so that he almost fell to the cobblestones. Straightening and wiping dust from his breeches, Hugo walked quickly back towards Chris. Behind him, Burls and the others took up their bawdy songs as they staggered towards the Gilded Oar.

She watched him approach with a puzzled look on her face. "Whatever did you say to them? They seem as giddy as men who found a pot of gold under a rock."

"Uh…" His eyes roamed all the way down her legs. Somehow, he found it difficult to banish the image of Chris in a dancer's outfit. Snapping his eyes back to her face, he shook his head. "I'll tell you later. I think it's time to find Nash and get out of Vinay." Not waiting for her to protest, he took her hand and led her away from the pier.

The sailors' song was long within earshot.

**-Huarn-**

Captain Huarn, commander of the Harmonian 282nd West Company, slapped his hand against his neck, squashing a gnat against his skin and cutting short its incessant buzzing. "Your move," he grunted.

Knight Class Gunner Serfein kept her eyes on the Scales board, never once lifting her gaze to meet his while they played. Her blond hair, streaked with dashes of colorful purple dye, was held up by three braids at the back of her head, and in full view while her cowl was down.

Huarn leaned back, watching the woman consider her move from among the True Runes. "How is it," he wondered, "That a woman who pays such meticulous attention to her appearance is so utterly indifferent to other people?"

"A true mystery," she said, picking up the piece representing the Dragon Rune. Her voice was low, and calm. Despite his best efforts, Huarn could never read any humor in it, even when she seemed to taunt him. She traced a circle through the air with the alabaster piece before placing it squarely beside the True Fire Rune piece.

Huarn raised an eyebrow. _She still surprises me, sometimes. _He scratched at the stubble on his jaw as he considered his move. The trestle table had been raised within moments of making camp, and the exhausting Grasslands sun now basked the wooden surface where the Scales board had been set up. _The Sun Rune won't budge for another few moves, yet. What about the Soul-Eater? It's usually active early these days, but if I check to make sure, she'll know what I've got in mind…_

Casually, he spoke. "Some mice were having a discussion. One mouse squeaked, saying that the Masked Bishop lost two of your men." He glanced at Serfein.

"Perhaps you should invest in a cat," she said. Her face remained drawn and dispassionate, but a slight twitch of the mouth betrayed the answer to Huarn's unspoken question.

_So it's true. _Immediately, he leaned over and grabbed the representation of the Soul-Eater. "See here, Serfein… I've got—"

"Sir!" a man shouted.

Arm still outstretched grasping the rune piece, Huarn fought a twitch of irritation as he turned to see Corporal Dawyyn run up past the wind-whipped pennons near the command tent. The man stopped and made his salute, forming the circle symbol against his chest. "Report!" Huarn said.

"Sir, our spies report that the Silver Maiden has been sighted in Vinay. Apparently, the rumors of her death were false. They've lost sight of her again, but she is believed to have left the city."

Huarn hid his surprise. Without looking, he slammed the Soul-Eater piece down against the Scales board and stood. He glanced at Serfein, who rose from her seat in the same breath. Had she anticipated this? "Well," he said, "Looks like it's time for us to earn our keep."

There was no reaction in her eyes. With a nod, Serfein pulled up her cowl. "If the Silver Maiden heads east, reacting to the Harmonian movement, she will pass through Brass Castle."

Huarn nodded, adjusting the hilt against his hip. "We'll intercept her there." _Serfein will wring some answers out of her, if our spies cannot, _he thought grimly.

**-Hugo-**

Shortly after the three of them had resumed their journey towards Brass Castle the following morning, Hugo turned to regard Chris with a small smile on his lips. "You've never dealt with drunks before, have you?" Akward atop the horse's back, he held tightly on the saddle's pommel. _I'd give a lot to be astride Fubar, or even a merchath. Anything other than this strange beast._

"Hmm?" Chris turned her still-drowsy eyes on him. Hugo quirked his eyebrow, saying nothing. "Oh," she said, "You are referring to the colorful fellows we encountered last night."

"Right. The 'drunk-off-their-asses' fellows." Hugo glanced casually back to where Nash guided his mount forward along the forest trail. The Harmonian seemed preoccupied with studying the underbrush for signs of wildlife.

"I have never known a useful application for liquor," Chris said.

Hugo shrugged. "It's not so bad. Some people get really amusing when they're drunk. Others just don't know when to stop—like our friends from last night."

"I do not like to deal with people who have lost their common sense and courtesy."

"You thought that was bad?" Hugo chuckled. "I've faced down a stampede of saraaks drunk on rotgut. You should give that a try some day."

"I think not," Chris muttered.

Hugo laughed.

**-Lucia-**

Arm outstretched to lean against the bark of a nearby tree, Lucia crouched at the precipice of a low cliff overlooking the foothills of the mountain pass. The setting sun found the gaps in the canopy, warming her back and casting an orange glow over the trail leading up to the Safir mountain settlements. The otherwise lightly traveled path was now packed with bodies, and dust swirled about the trail, kicked up by the hard leather boots of a thousand soldiers marching in columns down the narrow pass. The banners that snaked their way down the trail, carried by marching soldiers, carried the devices of numerous infantry divisions, yet they all held the common theme of a central emblem: the Harmonian flag. Ominous drums and shrill trumpets sounded a beat that carried the invading army into the Grasslands.

"They're like locusts," Rina said at her side. Lucia turned her head and saw that the Safir chieftain's face was contorted with a barely restrained rage as she crept closer to the edge of the cliff. Lucia reached out her hand and held her back.

"Not too close," she said. Even with the sun in their back, she would prefer to take no chances.

Rina nodded, dropping onto her arms and knees in the thorny underbrush to peer down at the stream of soldiers. "They'll swallow it all up. Just like they swallowed Safir, they'll swallow Chisha, and then they'll swallow the entire Grasslands."

"We'll resist them," Lucia said.

Rina shot back a weak smile, but then nodded. "We will." She watched the procession below them for several seconds before adding, "Spirits! There must be twenty thousand soldiers streaming into the Grasslands."

Lucia rubbed her sore neck. "Maybe more," she said. "I've seen—"

A branch snapped behind them. Lucia froze.

"What?"

There it was again. Lucia turned—

—Just in time to duck as something flashed by her head and hit the tree at her side with a loud thwack. Her eyes darted round and saw a dagger protruding from the bark. She looked round for the assailant. In the dense foliage, something blue and white moved. "There!" she said, reaching back to pull out the dagger.

A string of curses flew from Rina's mouth as the woman raised her head and swept the hair from out of her forehead, activating the rune inscribed there. The crest glowed a bright, earthy brown color, and a crunching, ripping noise emitted from the woods. Someone gasped, and then the trees parted and snapped as they were pushed aside by a massive upsurge of dirt and stone. The wave of earth coalesced into a hand-shaped mass that held a human form in a vice-like grip. The man screamed, but the cry was cut short as dirt was stuffed into his mouth. Despite his struggles, Lucia only had time to see that the man was a Harmonian sentry before he was swallowed up by the hand of earth and buried within its collapsing mass.

Standing up, Rina pointed her palms towards the ground, where the snapped trunks of several trees were torn from what looked like a mound of upturned dirt. Within seconds, the dirt receded back into the ground, and the grasses pushed in from the sides, obscuring the site and leaving only the broken trees around it as witnesses to what had transpired.

Lucia swallowed, feeling a bit cold. "Efficient," she said, her voice breaking.

Rina gave a grim smile. "We'd better get back," she said, eyes flickering about the wooded area. "There's no telling how many filthy rats the Harmonians have sneaking about the forest."

**-Dios-**

Looking down at the marching columns of infantry making their way down the mountain trail in an endless procession of squads and companies, Adjutant Dios was surprised when the Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai suddenly reached out his arm to point his gloved hand at a forested cliff rising over the plains near the foothills below the mountain.

"Mother Earth Rune," he said in a monotone.

Dios blinked, and then said, "Pardon, Exalted One?"

Seated astride a magnificent pure white gelding of Falenan origin, the Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai let his arm fall to his side and glanced at Dios. "A woman. And she is skilled. That is unusual." His musing seemed to be directed at no one but himself.

Dios' eyes narrowed, and he tried to make out something in the forested area where the bishop had pointed. He could see nothing. "Should I divert some of our forces to deal with it?"

The Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai turned his head back to watch the soldiers milling down the trail. "No." He went on as if Dios had not spoken at all, "That woman will make an interesting adversary. It seems the Pagans have some skilled Rune Bearers."

Dios felt a chill run down his spine.

**-Nash-**

The look on Chris' face was a mixture of distaste and embarrassment as she fussed over her golden blonde hair, coiling and uncoiling a lock around her index finger.

"It looks strange," she said, walking slowly through the throng of hawkers, travelers, wagons and carts filling the courtyard of Brass Castle.

"I think it looks nice," Hugo said. An awkward look came over his face, and he added, "I mean, not as nice as your real color, but… nice… in a different way."

Nash winked at him, and the boy returned an embarrassed glare. He looked at Chris. Hair flowing free, and clad in the casual, snug-fitting clothes of a traveler, the Captain of the Knights seemed more feminine. _She looks less stern. Maybe that's it. Or maybe it's just that her figure is more noticeable in those clothes._ Hugo certainly seemed to have noticed. Nash fought to suppress a smirk.

"You might come to like it," he said with a shrug and a smile at Chris. He kept his voice low as people milled about them, bartering and conversing on their way through the cobbled courtyard. "If you don't, it should wash out in a few days."

Chris shot him a sharp look. "Should?"

He grimaced. "Well, if nothing else, your natural color will grow back in with time."

Chris cast a doubtful glance at Nash before sighing and picking up her pace. Behind her back, Nash and Hugo shared a smile.

The sound of breaking wood caught Nash's attention. He looked to the side of the road and saw a broken-down cart beneath the awning of a storefront, spilling fruit out onto the cobblestones.

"Sorry! Sorry!" a young woman exclaimed as she scrambled to salvage the apples and oranges, even as the fruit were smashed beneath careless boots and wagon wheels rolling heedlessly through the courtyard. People went about their business carelessly, but a woman in a nondescript brown cowled cloak halted suddenly as several oranges came to a rolling stop in her path. Gingerly, she stepped over the fruit, but as she made a little leap, the edge of her cloak caught on a loose nail in the frame of a storefront, jerking the fabric aside and revealing what lay beneath. Nash's eyes widened. _Here?_

He thought she glanced at him, and he immediately turned his face away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her collect herself and keep walking at a hurried pace.

Throat tightening, Nash let a casual smile play on his lips as he glanced around for Chris and Hugo. He found them kneeling to help the young woman collect the remnants of her wayward fruit.

"Hey!" the woman exclaimed suddenly, snatching a bruised orange from Hugo's hand. "Those are mine!" she said with a distrustful glower.

"I was just trying to help," Hugo said in a dull tone. If she had heard him, the young woman gave no sign. She hurried about the edge of the street, picking up apples and oranges and collecting it in her apron. She clutched possessively at the fruit, glaring suspiciously at Hugo.

Chris was approaching the young woman, about to speak with her when Nash stepped in her path. "Let it go. We've got a problem," he said.

Chris' brow rose.

"Not here," Nash said, glancing around. Motioning for her to get Hugo and follow, he started down the street.

Behind him, he heard Hugo protest, "I was just trying to help her!"

"I know," Chris said.

Walking calmly but quickly down the street, Nash ducked into the first alley he found; a deep alcove between two stores. Partially secluded from the street by a pile of barrels, the alley ended at a dead-end by the wall of Brass Castle. As the others joined him in the shade, he pushed up against the wall and turned to regard them, smile gone from his face.

"Ungrateful…" Hugo was still muttering, glancing back towards the street.

Chris glanced at him, then turned to look at Nash. "Well?"

"I just saw a Knight Class Gunner."

"Please elaborate," Chris said, clasping her hands at her waist.

Nash nodded thoughtfully before saying, "A Knight Class Gunner is the highest rank of a field operative of the Howling Voice Guild."

Chris' eyes widened. Hugo glanced at her, noting her reaction, then turned to Nash. "What's that?"

Nash sighed. "It's a secretive Harmonian organization of spies and assassins. They hold the secret of a weapon called a 'gun.' It's a ranged weapon, superior to a bow or crossbow, which can punch through wood or even metal."

This time, Hugo's eyes widened as well. He and Chris exchanged looks, and then they both turned to regard Nash. "We've fought people like that," Hugo said.

Nash blinked. "What? No, you haven't."

"Hugo is correct," Chris said. "In the village of Tarnay, we were attacked by two men who fit the description you provided. I did not realize that they were members of the Howling Voide Guild, until now."

Nash stared at them. "How did you survive?"

"We tricked them," Hugo said with a shrug that seemed to belie a stronger reaction, "And then we killed them."

Nash gaped.

"Do you think that they are looking for us?" Chris asked.

Collecting himself, but still looking at the two of them in disbelief, Nash shook his head, "I can't be sure, but it's safer to assume so. There's no reason for an agent of that rank to be here unless she had an important quarry. Someone like the Captain of the Knights."

Chris glanced at the street behind, seeming to mull over his words. "Security in Brass Castle must be lax these days. Perhaps it is the council's lingering influence."

Nash snorted. "You can't keep a Knight Class Gunner out of anywhere."

"Nevertheless," Chris said, "We cannot mobilize the soldiers of Brass Castle without proclaiming to the world that I am not dead." She looked back at him, over her shoulder. "Did this Knight Class Gunner notice us?"

"No," Nash said, kneeling down to tighten the laces of his boots as he glanced out onto the street hidden behind stacks of barrels. "But that doesn't matter. The Grasslands will be crawling with Harmonian troops by now. Advance companies will have pushed up right near Brass Castle. The gunner might be working alone, but she's not the only one looking for you."

Chris kept pulling a lock of hair out of her face. "We still have to pass through the eastern gate. The soldiers are much more thorough there. If the Harmonians are looking for someone they expect to pass through Brass Castle, that is where they will wait."

"Is there any way to get out of Brass Castle without going through the gate?" Hugo asked.

Chris shook her head. "Not that I know of."

Nash straightened. "If we had more time," he said, "I might've been able to find something, but we don't. They'll be looking for you, milady, and if they look hard enough, blonde hair won't fool them."

"What do you suggest?"

"We'll get a wagon, and keep you out of sight within it. It won't hide you from the soldiers at the eastern gate, but then again, they aren't Harmonian. They won't be expecting you."

Chris tugged at a lock of hair. "Had we expected this before leaving Vinay, we might have made far better preparations. We travel light. How could we obtain a wagon here without commandeering one?"

"I'll find one," Hugo said.

There was a dangerous light in Chris' eyes as she turned to regard him. "Are you suggesting we steal from the people of Zexen?"

Hugo's features hardened. "I didn't say that."

"Then how—"

"I said, I'll find one," he said with a shrug. Without another word, he turned and walked back to the street. Chris made to follow.

"No," Nash said, taking three quick steps up and grabbing her shoulder. Chris wrested out of his grip, but halted. Watching Hugo go, she nodded irritably.

**-Lucia-**

Seated in a ring around the table in the Chief Sana's home, the chieftains of the Grasslands clans sat in council. The conversation had run hot, and half a dozen plans had been argued for and shot down before they had arrived at a workable compromise.

Leaning in against the table, Lucia hovered a finger over the rough hide map showing the Grasslands. The features of the terrain were etched into the hide with hot coal, and Lucia jabbed her finger at the river ten leagues from the mountain pass. "How far from the ford is the tunnel's mouth?"

Dupa tilted his head to the side, reptile eyes staring unnervingly at her. "Less than half a league. We will take them by surprise."

Lucia nodded absently, looking at the map. "We will strike at their supply trains there."

Dupa's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he hissed. "If we must skulk about like cowards, instead of facing them head-on."

Lucia ignored him. They had been through that a dozen times. She exchanged glances with Rina, and received a sympathetic smile. She drew a deep breath.

This was going to be a long day.

Later, as Lucia climbed the stone steps leading out of the stone house's cellar and into the noonday light, a voice called, "Lucia!"

She turned her head, and smiled as she saw Sergeant Joe separate from a group of Gani-Bara warriors and waddle up to her. He tipped his helmet at her. "Chief Lucia," he greeted her.

Lucia nodded her head at him. "It is good to see you, Jordi."

"And you," he said. "I was thinking that… With how things are, perhaps I should go look for Hugo."

Lucia's heart sank at the reminder of the worry that lay constant in her heart. Was her son even alive? He must be. She could not allow herself to think otherwise. Throat tightening, she shook her head.

"No, Jordi. You are the most experienced warrior among the Gani-Bara. You are needed among your people. I cannot ask you to do that on my behalf."

Sergeant Joe leaned on his halberd, looking at his kinsmen practicing with their weapons in the middle of the village. "Hugo is dear to me, as well."

"I know." Lucia sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "We must trust that he can take care of himself, now. I want to go after him myself, but… As chief, each brother and sister of the Karaya is a child to me. No matter how much it…" she let the words trail off, shaking her head.

"I understand," Sergeant Joe said.

Looking to the sky, Lucia tried to imagine her son soaring on Fubar's wings somewhere in the distance. Somewhere, somehow, he must be safe. He would return. In the meantime, it was up to her alone to find a way to end this war before it began. Hugo would have to take care of himself.

**-Hugo-**

"Well," Hugo said, returning to the alley, "I'm not good with horses, so you'll have to handle them."

Chris stood up from where she sat against the shaded wall of the blacksmith's shop. Her eyes widened as she looked past him to see the covered wagon drawn by a team of horses standing near the mouth of the alley.

"How did you—"

Nash returned from the street, pushing past Hugo and nodding appreciatively. "Great, Hugo. I don't think any of our little friends noticed, either. We should load up and head out right away, before they _do _notice."

Chris was eyeing Hugo suspiciously, alternating between him and the wagon. He shrugged, scratching the palm of his hand irritably. Walking out the alley, she looked both ways before gripping the side of the driver's seat. She hesitated, seeking a steady foothold.

Walking up behind her, Hugo put a hand on her waist and gave a supportive push. She froze, stiffening briefly, but then climbed up, placing her foot in his palm before pushing onto the seat. Turning, she grabbed his arm and hoisted him up. Hugo made to move past her, but she held her grip on his wrist.

Throwing himself up on the other side, Nash sat down by the reins and spared them a bemused look. "What? Did you see something new in each other's eyes?"

Startled, Chris' eyes wandered to Hugo's hand. She jerked it closer.

"Hey!" Hugo said. "What's—"

Chris turned his palm up to the light, frowning. "You sold it."

"Sold what?" Hugo asked, not meeting her eyes.

Chris' eyes snapped to his. "Your Wind Rune is gone, and in its place is a sore scar. I am led to believe that you sold it. I thought it was important to you?"

He shrugged. "Like Nash said, we need to leave."

Chris made to speak, but clamped her mouth shut, nodding. Glancing back at him, she crept in under the wagon's bonnet and drew back the flaps to shield the insides.

Looking down, Hugo saw a smug smirk on Nash's lips. "Don't say it."

"Say what?" Nash asked innocently.

Muttering under his breath, Hugo sat down beside the Harmonian and crossed his legs. He kept scratching the itch in his hand in frustration.

"Why not the Fire Rune?" Nash asked in a low voice.

Hugo shrugged. "She said it was affixed too poorly. Wouldn't take it out."

Nodding slowly, Nash said, "A word to the wise: Don't scratch it. It'll just get worse."

Hugo swore.

**-Serfein-**

"Report," Serfein said, carefully closing the door behind her as she stepped inside the rented room on the second story of the inn. The two Squire Class Gunners already in the room straightened immediately, one man rising from his seat on the bed as both saluted.

"Sir, no sign of the Silver Maiden," the other man spoke up. "People round here seem mostly to believe that she was indeed killed at Iksay."

Serfein stared out through the small window in the far wall, nearly opaque with filth, for several seconds before saying anything. Somehow, she could not shake the feeling that she had seen a familiar face in the courtyard. "She would have gone to great lengths to conceal her presence. We must assume that she is in disguise."

"Yes, sir," the other man said, "But it is possible that Captain Huarn's spies were mistaken." He hesitated before adding, "They are, after all, not of the Guild."

Serfein adjusted her gloves. "Captain Huarn is thorough, for a military man. We will continue to labor under the assumption that the Silver Maiden remains alive. Focus your attention on the east gate."

The two squires saluted in silence.

**-Chris-**

The wagon had stood still for what seemed like a long time when Chris pulled the flaps at the front aside to peer out past the driver's seat. Before the east gate, an entire caravan of wagons were lined up, most of them sporting an elaborate color scheme with motifs both tribal and religious. Zexen soldiers were milling about between the wagons, ducking low to look under the wheels here, and questioning driver and passenger there.

"What is this?" Chris asked.

"Wind Seekers," Hugo muttered.

Surprised, Chris looked out across the sprawl of wagons. Her eyes found a group of people aligned before the lead wagon, surrounded by a dozen soldiers. Their leader seemed to be an older woman wearing a colorful cotton dress bedecked with necklaces and armlets. She was gesturing grandly at the guard lieutenant positioned in the middle of the soldiers, clearly questioning her on her business.

Hugo fidgeted in his seat. "They've been like this since we got here. The soldiers just won't let them through."

Chris studied the Wind Seekers as they huddled in their wagons, surrounded by the insistent soldiers of the eastern gate. Their skin tones and hair colors were those of Grasslanders, but their garb was something of a mixture between Zexen fashion and the tribal patterns of Karayans, bedecked with the tribal charms worn by Hugo's people as well as the more traditional religious necklaces worn by worshippers of the Goddess.

"I have never known Wind Seekers to come this far west," she said. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the soldiers ringing in the caravan's leader, questioning her menacingly. "However, it should not be the Zexen custom to treat travelers like criminals," she said, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt. She drew a deep breath, avoiding Hugo's eyes. "I should talk with the soldiers."

Nash's head whipped around, and his eyes bore in on her. "Have you forgotten that we're trying to keep a low profile?"

"He's right," Hugo said with a shrug. "Besides, Grasslanders are always treated this way in Zexen. Even if they're Wind Seekers."

Chris frowned. "Well, perhaps it is time for things to change."

Hugo looked up at her in surprise. He was about to speak when Nash interrupted.

"This isn't the time to make changes. Leave it, or we're going to get spotted."

Hesitating, Chris observed the soldiers' behavior with distaste. Glancing back, she observed the line of wagons and people forming behind them, and sighed.

Suddenly, she heard a shout from ahead. Turning, she saw Hugo leap down from the wagon's seat before she saw the cause of the commotion: a group of soldiers were manhandling a Wind Seeker woman, gripping her wrists and pushing her up against a wagon's side, while others held the men of the caravan away at spear point.

Nash cursed. Wasting no time, Chris emerged from her cover and leapt down onto the ground, sprinting to catch up with Hugo. She heard Nash's voice call out behind her, but did not make out the words in the din. The Wind Seekers' leader was trying to push toward the woman, but she was being restrained by the soldiers surrounding her. Everywhere, people were pushing and shouting.

Hugo reached them first, grabbing the nearest soldier's shoulder and twisting him around to deliver a furious punch to his face. Surprised, the man was knocked flat on his back, and the soldiers scrambled, shouting as they faced the new threat. Immediately, several spears were thrust against Hugo's body, but his knife was already out, and he deflected them as he retreated. Behind the soldiers, the woman slunk away under the wagon.

"Halt!" Chris shouted. "Halt, in the name of the Knights of Zexen!" She drew her sword from its sheath, waving it around to get their attention.

The soldiers hesitated, gaping at her. _Goddess, what have I done?_ She replaced the sword in its sheath and approached the soldiers with straight back and her head held high. They were whispering amongst each other as she drew closer.

Placing a hand on Hugo's shoulder as she pushed past him, she walked up to meet the lieutenant, who was approaching her through the throng.

She thought fast. "Lieutenant," she said, "I am Helen, of the Knights of Zexen." She lowered her voice as she approached the skeptical, surprised man. "I have been sent as an emissary to the Grasslands by Head Councilor Adeline."

The man blinked, eyes going to her sword, and then to her countenance. "Uh, welcome, milady. I didn't realize there'd be an emissary… I hadn't heard—"

"Good," Chris said. "It is as it should be. Lieutenant, it is imperative that you and your men do not speak of my presence to anyone but your direct superiors. Is that understood?"

The lieutenant seemed shocked to silence for several seconds. Then he started, and said, "Yes. Yes, milady!" He saluted rigidly, prompting his fellow soldiers to repeat the gesture.

"I need your help, lieutenant. You must get this caravan through the gate as soon as possible. I will travel alongside them through the Grasslands." _That will be our chance to reach Chisha undetected._

"I see… Yes, of course, milady!" The man seemed eager now, excited at the prospect of being of help to a knight, no doubt.

Chris nodded. "See to it!" she said, saluting briskly. As she turned, she found Hugo watching her with an unreadable look on his face. She started back towards the wagon.

"Helen, huh?" Hugo said in a low voice as she passed him.

"I like that name," Chris said with a shrug, heat blooming on her cheeks. A great deal of activity was set in motion now, as the soldiers redoubled their efforts to get the caravan through the gates, and the Wind Seekers ran about making preparations to oblige as quickly as possible. The air filled with shouts and the sound of running boots and horses and wagon wheels creaking as they rolled across the dirty courtyard towards the gates. Glancing back towards the front of the column, she saw the caravan's leader, directing her people with gestures and shouts, eyes constantly going to Chris. _Goddess, I hope I did not make a terrible mistake._

**-Sarah-**

Bishop Sasarai stood flanked by his adjutant, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at some unseen feature of the interior walls of the canvas tent. "What is your assessment, Master Albert?" he asked, glancing at the people gathered near the middle of the tent.

Albert stood leaning against the table's surface, studying the detailed map the bishop had been supplied with by his scouts.

"Exalted One, it all depends on whether or not the Pagans have a tactician among them. To my knowledge, the people of the Grasslands have traditionally been uneducated in the ways of war. We may well face a horde of savages who feel honor bound to meet us head-on in the open fields. However, I have planned for the worst case scenario…" He gestured at the map.

Bishop Sasarai nodded. "Go on."

Albert bowed his head. "Yes, Exalted One. If the Pagans have access to a tactician, he will undoubtedly advocate a strike against our supply lines. Hence, my suggestion that we make for this ford," he pointed at the map, "So as to rouse the Pagans into attacking us there. Once in position, we will prepare a counterattack, and catch the Pagans in a trap."

"I see," Bishop Sasarai said.

"Once the trap springs, our Rune Bearers will crush them."

Sarah fidgeted where she stood on the opposite end of the table. Being in the presence of the bishop made her nervous—that hauntingly familiar face, yet his eyes seemed so distant. She kept imagining those eyes would see right through her, to their deception. She did not relish the feeling.

"Miss Sarah?"

"Yes?" she said, startled by the bishop's voice. His eyes turned to her, and she suppressed a shiver.

"How many illusory soldiers can you muster at once?"

"Exalted One, it depends on the circumstances. In the heat of battle, when perceptions are low, and the illusions are intermingled among the soldiers of flesh and blood… Perhaps two thousand."

"The Pagans have a Rune Bearer among them with a higher order rune. I will face her myself," the bishop said.

"Begging your pardon, Bishop Sasarai," a voice came from tent's entrance, as a man ducked beneath the flaps to step inside. "Your power should be held back for now. Let me handle the Pagan Rune Bearer." Even behind his iron mask, Sarah's heart leaped in her chest at the sight of him.

"Masked Bishop," Sasarai said, a slight smile playing on his lips. "By all means, make your case."

Luc walked up to the table, one leather-gloved hand resting on his waist. He held the other aloft. "My Cyclone Rune will be more than a match for any Rune Bearer the Pagans could muster. Your True Earth Rune should be reserved as a surprise for our enemy."

"Hmm. What is your assessment, Master Albert?"

Albert glanced at Luc before straightening and facing Bishop Sasarai. "Exalted One, the Masked Bishop's advice is sound. This will be our first engagement. It would be wise not to reveal the full extent of our power. If we give the enemy a reason to doubt our prowess—some hope that they might be able to defeat us—then we open up for a complete rout in a second engagement. They will grow to underestimate us, and apply all of their strength to destroy us. At that point, using the True Earth Rune will break them."

Bishop Sasarai stared at Luc's eyes behind his mask even as Albert spoke. Watching the two bishops matching wills, Sarah's heart pounded. She shifted her grip of her staff, wiping the sweat from her palm.

"It will be so," Bishop Sasarai said. "Make the preparations."

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. The first step of their plan was complete. She looked at Luc. Behind his mask, she could imagine that he was smiling.

**-Hugo-**

As soon as the caravan was out of sight of Brass Castle, an entirely different mood came over the Wind Seekers. Voices were raised in song as the strumming of lutes sounded from several wagons, and the people of the caravan moved freely among each other, like some large family sharing in the rigors of a long journey. At the head of the largest wagon sat the old woman, overseeing her people as they rode with the noonday sun.

They had scarcely traveled a league from the keep through a sparsely forested landscape of rolling hills when they began to hear the sound of marching soldiers. An anxious mood gripped the Wind Seekers, and Chris watched them form up their wagons in a modest defensive ring as the ranks of a Harmonian platoon came marching down the bend in the road. Hugo glanced at Chris, and saw that she looked tense.

A horseman came thundering down the road, weaving between columns of infantry with a group of cavalrymen at his flanks. The riders fanned out across the road to envelop the caravan as it came to a halt, and the main horseman reined his horse in by the leader's wagon.

"I am Captain Huarn of the Holy Harmonian Army," he said in a loud voice that carried throughout the caravan. He waited for the words to sink in before continuing. "No one will be harmed as long as you cooperate. I'm looking for a woman from Zexen—the Captain of the Knights; the so-called Silver Maiden."

Hugo saw a flash of anger on Chris' face, and her jaw clenched.

"I am Bylsma," the old woman said, "Matron of this caravan. The person you seek is not among us."

Surprised, Hugo looked at the woman. A pleasant smile planted on her face, she sat casually in her seat, regarding the Harmonian captain warmly, as if he were nothing more than a friendly wanderer sharing their road.

"Are you so sure, old woman?" Huarn asked.

"I know each and every person in this caravan, Captain," Bylsma replied with an easy smile, gesturing towards the wagons behind her. "You will find no Captain of the Knights here."

A grim smile spread on Huarn's face. Eyes locked on Bylsma, he nudged his horse forward, trotting over past her wagon and straight towards where Chris sat.

"I'm not so sure. I think I _might_. Isn't that right, Silver Maiden?" he asked, looking directly at Chris.

She made to speak, but Hugo interrupted. Feeling strangely bold, he reached out to clasp Chris' hand in his. She looked startled, but did not resist. "I'm sorry, Captain, but you've mistaken my wife for someone else," he said with a smile. His heart pounded as he felt the heat from Chris' hand in his. "She is no maiden girl."

Huarn's brows rose, but his smile remained. After a moment, he shook his head. "You have disguised yourself well, Captain, but the hunt ends here. Your little display at the gate didn't go unnoticed."

Suddenly, Bylsma was beside them, gesturing for Nash to help her up onto the wagon. As he hoisted her up beside them, she spoke, "Captain, you misunderstand." She moved over to ruffle Hugo's hair as she passed. "My son and his wife certainly proved themselves useful at Brass Castle, but my daughter-in-law is no knight." She placed her hands on Chris' shoulders, smiling down at her. "She's just a very good actor."

The smile drained from Huarn's face. As he watched them, it seemed to Hugo that the world had stopped. Soldiers and Wind Seekers alike were silent, awaiting the Captain's verdict, and the only sound was the furious beating of his own heart. Clutching Chris' hand, he felt her racing pulse, and their hands were clammy with sweat.

"I see," Huarn said slowly. He looked up at Bylsma. "Of course, you wouldn't mind that we escorted you on your journey, then." It did not seem a question.

"Not at all," Bylsma replied pleasantly.

_Not at all, _Hugo thought bitterly. He glanced at Chris, and forced a smile.

**-Borus-**

As the sun began to set over the harbor, Borus sat astride his horse just outside the gates of Vinay. He kept repeating the Captain's orders in his mind, but he knew in his heart what had to be done. Sparing the city one last look, he turned and stirred his mount into a gallop, leaving the walls behind him. He had made all the necessary preparations.

_She needs my help, _he thought to himself. _Alron can explain it all. He can help me free her. Goddess, I swear I _will_ free her from whatever evil influence is guiding her actions!_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Here begins a new story arc. I'm trying to tell several plot threads at once (the battle between the Grasslanders and Harmonia, for instance) and I hope it doesn't get too intrusive. I try to keep anything not related to Chris & Hugo as short as possible, to keep the pace up. Let me know if it's working or not!

By the way, I'm using the name "Gani-Bara" to refer to the Duck Clan people. (The word looks the same in singular as well as plural.)

Comments on what was good and what was bad are always welcome. I also like to hear what you're looking forward to and what your favorite parts were, so if you feel like it, drop me a line! I love talking about writing.

**Next Chapter:**

Chris and Hugo find themselves in a situation quite a bit more complex than they bargained for. What seemed like a blessing quickly becomes a curse, as they're forced to play their assumed roles to a hilt in a bizarre recreation of Wind Seeker marriage traditions! With friends and enemies both new and old showing up, things get increasingly complicated… Even worse, an unexpected betrayal puts things to a head! Will our heroes escape the watchful eyes of Captain Huarn and his allies? Next time, in Blazing Waves, Burning Rain!


	16. A Certain Meeting

"The barbarians are fundamentally different in temperament from us. Their culture is steeped in primitive superstitions far removed from anything resembling civilization. For as long as they live in such squalor in the Grasslands, these so-called clans will always resent us, coveting the wealth of our society, and the blessing of the Goddess. Every man of Zexen must keep watch against these savage beasts, taking care that they never sully Zexen soil and its sons and daughters. Only through such vigilance does our fledgling nation deserve to stand the test of time."

—Speech delivered by Sir Charlem, Captain of the Knights, at the Customs Assembly, IS 422

**Chapter XVI: A Certain Meeting**

(--)

**-Dupa-**

Dupa stalked along the ranks of the saraak warriors arrayed before him. His war cap clanked with each step.

"Hear me!" he said, hefting his halberd. His voice was answered by a deafening roar from every throat.

Dupa slammed the butt of the halberd against the soil. "Hear me; the Ironheads approach. They are not the same, and yet they are. These foes come from afar, but they are no different from the Ironheads our mothers and fathers fought, and our grandmothers and grandfathers before them."

The sun glinted on the scales of the saraak warriors as they clanged their weapons against each other in reply.

"The Ironheads have made the voices of the Spirits distant, by living on stone and wrapping themselves in iron. They have no courage, so they hide their hearts from the Spirits!" He swished his tail through the dirt, growling in a low voice. He saw Hrunga, with coppery scales and a scar across his jaw. Makele, head and shoulders above most others, stuck out like a anthill beside the warriors around her. And there, at the end of the column, Mharag's stared at him, grinding his poleaxe. These were warriors without peer. They were saraak. The Ironheads were many, but they would bend like willows before their fury. He grinned, raising his halberd to the high sun.

"Death to the Ironheads!"

They would be victorious.

**-Chris-**

The walls of Bylsma's wagon were covered by shelves, all filled to capacity with the woman's belongings: carved animals of bloodwood and ebony, lacquered pewter figurines, and embroidered wool caps, all strewn about the shelves in a jumble. There was no method to the madness that Chris could see, but the woman had paused several times to arrange an item here and there as the wagon shook across the dips in the road.

"I do not know how to thank you," Chris said. "I did not expect such kindness."

Bylsma smiled. "Do not be too quick to thank me, child. You're not out of this yet."

Chris shook her head. "Even so, we owe a lot to your assistance." She felt her pockets. "I do not have a lot of potch, but—"

Bylsma's smile drained from her face. "It'll take more than potch to make me risk my family, child." She leaned back in her chair, folding arms over her chest.

Chris' eyes narrowed on the woman. "Excuse me?"

"I simply did what was best for us at the time. You'd already dragged us into this."

Chris stood up. "I did not ask for you to get involved." She fought to keep a frown off her lips.

"You certainly did not." Bylsma stood, jabbing a finger at the cloth-covered table. "You dragged us into this the moment you made your appearance at the gates back in Brass Castle. And now you're trying to dump your traveler's purse on me and leave me with the soldiers? I think not."

Chris felt her ears burn. "It was I who got you through the gate in the first place."

Bylsma laughed. "You did us no kindness, child. We've been through this a thousand times, and we always look after ourselves. All you did was draw attention to us; attention we don't want."

Chris rubbed at her chin as she felt the wagon roll to a stop. "You would have preferred me to stand and let it happen?"

Bylsma swept her hands at Chris. "Yes! Already this Captain Huarn and his soldiers have commandeered several of our wagons for their own use. You got us involved in this mess, and so now you're involved with us."

The beaded curtain covering the wagon's doorway rustled, and Hugo ducked into the wagon, halting at the sight of the two women. The look on his face told her he would just as well turn and leave.

"The foreigners are making camp. The Huarn fellow is coming this way." His eyes darted between Chris and Bylsma. "What's going on?"

Bylsma's smile returned, as broad as if it had never been gone. She stepped around the table towards the two.

"The two of you are going to play your parts." She extended her open hand towards them. "You must promise me that you will remain with the caravan until the Harmonians leave, and that you will keep up your charade to the best of your ability."

Hugo's jaw dropped.

Chris realized that she was grinding her teeth. "What if we do not promise?"

"Then," Bylsma said, sighing, "The moment Captain Huarn walks into this wagon, I'll tell him the truth."

Hugo cursed the runes. "You'd sell us out to him?"

Chris motioned for him to be silent, and turned to face Bylsma. "What would this charade entail?"

The woman's eyes fairly twinkled! "You'll be the perfect husband and wife. You'll get a taste of what life as a Wind Seeker is like. You'll adhere to our traditions to the hilt."

Hugo muttered something under his breath. Chris did not want to know what he said. She glared at the woman, painfully aware of her own heartbeat as she considered the offer. If she did not agree, the jig would be over, and the Wind Seekers would likely be caught in the crossfire anyway. But she understood that Bylsma could hardly trust her, either. After all, why wouldn't they just leave at the first opportunity? Huarn's rage could tear the caravan asunder. Besides, how bad could their marriage traditions be?

She sighed. "I promise."

Bylsma smiled. Hugo's reaction was a look of utter disbelief.

"You don't know what you're doing."

Chris turned to face him. "This is the choice I least resent." The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

Hugo shook his head, raking hands through his hair. Chris heard footsteps outside the wagon. She fixed her eyes on him.

"Hugo, promise her."

Swallowing an oath, he reached out to touch Bylsma's hand, ducked his head, and said, "I promise."

Smiling, Bylsma turned her hand over to reveal the glowing white rune on its back. "Good. The Symmetry Rune has sealed your oath. Until the spell is broken, your charade will become truth."

Chris' eyes widened as she took in the sight of the rune. With the spell wrought, the pattern's glow was receding back to a pale outline, no more than a scar in the skin.

"You…!"

Bylsma sighed, tracing the rune with her finger. "At least you'll be easier to deal with than that girl, sleeping the days away, emerging from the wagon only to throw tantrums and make petulant demands."

The curtain rustled behind them.

If Huarn had not arrived at that moment, Chris was not sure what she would have done.

**-Bylsma-**

Bylsma held the curtain aside to watch 'Helen' follow Captain Huarn towards the hastily erected command tent. Soldiers were milling about the site, pulling at canvas and securing guy ropes even as their commander ducked through the opening, followed by the Silver Maiden. She glanced at the Karayan boy, who watched the procession from the outskirts of the halted caravan. His eyes found her, and she smiled. He shot her a dark look.

"Aunt," Rakma said, climbing the front of the wagon and smoothing her skirts. "Why the charade? Why don't you just tell Captain Huarn the truth? We did nothing to upset these Harmonians."

Bylsma chuckled, sweeping her fingers across the young woman's cheek.

"When did we ever do anything to upset anyone, dear? Soldiers are all the same, no matter what flag they hoist." She motioned towards the flagstaff being erected near the command tent, bearing the circle emblem of Harmonia in blue and white. Running her fingers over the Symmetry Rune affixed to her right hand, she could almost imagine it reacting sympathetically to the sign embedded upon that flag: the crest of the True Rune that gave it birth.

Rakma sat down and began to undo her braid. "Why make it worse, aunt?"

"Because, dear, we have a chance to make it _better_."

"I don't understand."

Bylsma shot a pointed look at Hugo. "See that boy?"

She frowned. "The one caressing the hilts of his daggers? Of course." Hugo was stamping his feet impatiently, arms crossed over his chest, but his fingers kept reaching for the dagger on his back as if they had a life of their own. He was very clearly trying _not _to touch the weapon.

"What can you tell me about him?" Bylsma asked.

Rakma shook her hair free. "Only that he's Karayan. And that you're taking a big risk if you trust him to play his part well. He doesn't look like the deceptive type."

Bylsma chuckled. "He may yet surprise us. That boy isn't just any Karayan. He's Hugo, the son of Chief Lucia."

Rakma's jaw dropped.

Bylsma grinned, gathering up her skirts to step out of the doorway and sit down cross-legged in the driver's seat. The horses had been unhitched and taken out to pasture, and the afternoon sun felt pleasant upon her skin. "Chris Lightfellow, of the Zexen Knights, and Hugo, son of Chief Lucia." She gave Rakma a pointed look. "Those two are the future leaders of the Grasslands, mark my words. Zexen, and the Clans… I don't know what these two are up to or how they even came to travel together, but no doubt it has something to do with the Harmonians. Once the invaders are gone, these two will go back to their homes and a conflict neither understands but will both devote their lives to. And meanwhile, perhaps, after I'm through with these children, they will have learned something about the Wind Seekers. About what our lives are like."

Rakma crept up behind her, placing her hands on her shoulders. "Aren't you worried that they'll resent you for what you've done?"

Bylsma chuckled. "It's a risk, but I'm sure I can turn this to our advantage."

Rakma stared at Hugo, pouting. "Do you really think those two are lovers?"

"Of course not, silly girl," Bylsma laughed. "It's just a trick. I'm sure they're both chafing under the lie." She tapped her lip, raising a brow at Rakma. "Hugo would make a good match for you."

Rakma cast her eyes down, brows furrowed as she studied her nails with great interest. She shrugged. "He's handsome, even for a Karayan."

Bylsma patted her shoulder. "Stay close to him if you can. After all, he _is _the future chief of Karaya."

Just then, Hugo looked up at them. There was a strange look on his face. Somehow it reminded her of a mouse watching a hawk swooping down towards it.

She smiled at him.

**-Huarn-**

"Zexeners and Grasslanders don't often marry, do they?" Captain Huarn said. The fold-out chair creaked as he leaned back.

"That is correct," the woman across the table replied. Poised with casual authority in the makeshift chair, she seemed at ease even with his eyes no doubt boring a hole in her head. Golden-haired, smooth-skinned, and slender, she was quite something to behold. Whether she was Helen of the Wind Seekers, or the Silver Maiden of Zexen, he envied the man who could put a smile on that stern face.

"That would make you the exception," he said.

"Yes."

He shifted in his seat. "At Brass Castle, you had a sword. Is it customary for women among your people to carry a blade?"

"It was not mine. I was pretending to be a knight, to get us through the gate."

Huarn cradled his head in his hand, regarding her coldly. He was not accustomed to being misled by his intuition.

"My dear lady, do you expect me to believe the sheer coincidence in all of this? Here I am, searching for the fabled Silver Maiden of Zexen, and who should come waltzing through the selfsame gates under my scrutiny but a young woman matching the description nearly to a tee, wielding a sword and acting like a knight."

The smile on her face was apologetic. "I understand how you could find that difficult to believe, Captain. However, I had heard that the," she searched for the word, "...Silver Maiden... died."

"My spies assure me the rumors are exaggerated."

She looked surprised—or she feigned it well. "Truly?"

"True as Lord Hikusaak himself, may he be eternal."

She bowed her head slightly.

He leaned on his hands, let out a small sigh, and fixed his gaze on her beneath lidded eyes. "I must admit, I'm finding it hard to believe that a girl like you could run a knighthood, even in a backwaters place like Zexen."

He strained his eyes, focusing on her features to try to detect the slightest hint of a reaction. There was nothing.

He was beginning to doubt his own intuition. After all, what he had said was the truth: she did not seem a warrior, much less a knight. There was a streak of iron in her manners, but he thought her a courtier, or a merchant's daughter. Not a soldier.

"You may go," he said, making a gesture for the tent flaps.

She stood. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Captain Huarn. Does this mean that you will be leaving the caravan?"

Huarn leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. "No. I pledged to escort the caravan for a time, after all. I won't break that promise. Perhaps I'll find something interesting along the way."

"Perhaps." With a slight curtsey, she bowed out of the tent.

Huarn cast one last wistful glance at the nape of her neck as Helen strode out. Could she be the Silver Maiden? How the knights got anything done with a woman like her wearing breeches like _those_ around them, he had no idea.

Three seconds passed before Serfein stepped out of the shadows.

"Do you believe her?"

Huarn left his seat to pace up to the entrance of the tent and back. "Yes. But my intuition still tells me not to."

"My spies do not fail."

Huarn chuckled. "All spies fail. All the world is a lie, and then the truth turns out to be nothing but a joke. Perhaps the Silver Maiden truly is dead."

"I can make her talk." Serfein touched a hand to her shoulder. "I'm no stranger to torture."

He looked her in the eye, hesitating.

"No." He shook his head. "I serve the Bishop Sasarai. I won't sully his name."

"If you fail, Bishop Sasarai will sully your name."

"Not yet, Serfein. Not yet."

**-Hugo-**

Chris' shoulders seemed to sag as she left the shadow of Captain Huarn's tent, as if suddenly unburdened. The setting sun bronzed her hair as she approached him.

"Well?" he said.

Chris glanced back, but kept walking. "I think he believed me. At least, I am not in chains. That is good, is it not?" She stroked her still-sore wrists. "Would you believe he fell for your marriage sham? Hah! Why would a Zexener marry a Grasslander? Preposterous!"

Hugo smirked, looking her over. "Right. Preposterous."

Seeing his look, her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. What do you think he'll do now?"

All around them, the Wind Seekers were milling about their wagons, loading and unloading supplies which they ran between wagons on wheelbarrows, while small tents and simple canvas awnings were raised against the vehicles' walls. The soldiers were long done with their preparations, and now lounged around their tents, playing at dice, or tended to their horses.

Chris glanced back at Huarn's tent. "He will keep watching us. No doubt he suspects the truth, but he cannot be sure, and he probably will not act until he is."

"But he won't let us go until he's found the Silver Maiden."

She nodded. "Or until he's convinced that she's dead." She balanced on her heels, adjusting the tight-fitting top with a frown. "This garment chafes. I believe it is too small."

"It looks fine to me," Hugo said, then quickly coughed and added, "So, I guess we keep up the charade?"

Chris looked at him. "I wish…" Her words trailed off.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head, "It is nothing." She gazed into the horizon, shielding her eyes against the quickly setting sun. "You know the area better than I do. What should we do?"

Just then, the Knight Class Gunner, Serfein, came sweeping out of the tent. She paused outside to give them a long, searching look. Then she started towards them.

"Well, first of all," Hugo said, turning his face away from Serfein, "Why don't you get a little closer, dear?" He held out his hand.

Her eyes bulged. "Pardon me?" Her voice sounded strained.

"It's that preposterous thing, remember? And don't look at me like I killed your dog."

She stared at him, mouth hanging open.

"Is it not enough that we are… together?" she said.

He chuckled. "Now _that _would be preposterous. Come here, take my hand."

She knitted her brows, but drew closer. She took his hand. "Is this better?"

He squeezed her hand and grinned. "Much."

She frowned. "This is amusing to you. You are doing this to mock me."

He could not help but laugh. "You're pouting."

"I am not."

"That gunner's about to pass us," he whispered. Feeling bold, he put his arm around her waist. He felt her turn rigid, but she soon relaxed, and did not resist.

Serfein traded glances with them as she passed by, mere feet away. Hugo smiled at the woman, but held his breath until she was far away on long strides.

Chris exhaled. "I think she fell for it." She paused, then glanced at him with a raised brow. "Are you going to take your hand off my waist?"

"Huh? Oh, right." For some reason, part of him hated to let go.

"Come, walk with me," he said, yanking her arm lightly to make her follow as he started down another path through the caravan. "You won't become a barbarian just by being near me."

"I understand that—"

"Good, because it's a step-by-step process."

She staggered to keep up with his pace. "Let us be serious for a moment. I asked you a question."

He turned, and she stumbled to a stop at arm's length. "Since when do you want my opinion?"

She cocked her head. "Since just recently."

"Sure. Alright." He sighed. "This is all plainsland. If Huarn's keeping half as close an eye on us as I figure he is, we would never be able to outrun his cavalry. We could sneak away in the night, but I wouldn't be so sure we'd reach Chisha without running into Huarn or other Harmonians."

"In my experience, Grasslanders are never short of hiding places."

Hugo's eyebrows shot up. "Are you saying we're cowards?"

"Do not be childish."

Her hand felt clammy in his, and he let it go. "We can talk about cowardice—"

"Do not misunderstand. I mean to say that Grasslanders are well at home in this terrain. Do you not have tunnels to take you between Brass Castle and Chisha?"

Hugo stilled his breathing. "No. There are safe places, but sticking with the caravan would be faster. The Grasslands are probably crawling with Harmonians by now. I figure our best bet is to stay right here until we reach the Stillwoods, and go from there."

Chris frowned. "That will be at least three or four days at this pace."

Three or four days of fighting, of Harmonian soldiers making their way through the Grasslands, and him unable to do anything to help his people. He smiled apologetically. "That's how it is. Besides, I don't know what kind of spell Bylsma put us under. It might prevent us from leaving."

She sighed. "And even if not, leaving now would put Bylsma's people at risk. As we have already done."

"Right." Turning uneasily, he spotted an approaching woman. "Speaking of which..."

Bylsma came upon them with a smile. "It's a fine evening, isn't it?"

Hugo smirked. "I hadn't noticed."

The woman tucked her arms into her fringed sleeves. "I've prepared a wagon for you."

Chris glanced at Hugo. "It would be easier if we both quartered separately. We do not need to chase anyone out of their wagon."

Hugo shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me." What was she playing at?

Bylsma flourished her hand with a little laugh. "Have you forgotten that you're married?"

Chris' face went blank. "Surely you do not expect us to—"

"I don't care what you do once you're alone in your wagon," Bylsma said, shaking her head, "But you'll adhere to our traditions. I'm sure even Zexen couples share a room. How do you expect to pull this off if you can't even stand to sleep in the same wagon?"

"She's right," Hugo said. "It's a small thing. Karayan men and women sleep in the same tents, most of the time. I'm used to it."

Her eyes narrowed on him. "Are you, now?"

Hugo coughed. Well, maybe not with women like Chris.

Bylsma crossed her arms in front of her body. "There will be no discussion. Solve it."

Chris pushed out her lip. She looked at Hugo. Then she nodded.

**-Nash-**

Nash kept to the caravan, keeping out of sight for the most part. He was squatting down by the side of a wagon, arms draped over his knees as he thought. With a Knight Class Gunner around and Hikusaak knows how many more gunners, he did not want to be recognized. Serfein was young, and she would not know him, but she may well put two and two together and figure it out if he gave her too many chances. It was never a good idea to take chances with the Guild.

Worse, Nash had to consider the fact that the Guild was working with the Chimera. Chris and Hugo had fought gunners—they had said as much, and he did not doubt the truth of their words, though he struggled to find the connection. At Tarnay, the two had faced illusions of a saraak raid, and then been hunted by these gunners, apprentices no doubt, who they eventually managed to kill in the forest. Hikusaak knows how! Even apprentices should not have failed such an assignment, especially with Hunter Runes at their disposal.

Nash ran a coin over his knuckles, frowning. If Serfein was involved with this 'Chimera,' that was bad news. The illusions of the Chimera had thus far been used to incite a war between Zexen and Clans, and had been doing a good job of it, too. Nash knew for a fact that Bishop Sasarai had no hand in this. His concern was, first and foremost, the True Runes. But strange things were happening in the Grasslands these days, and too many shadows seemed to have a hand in the troubles. As long as he did not know who these shadows were, he could do little to prevent whatever was coming.

Nash rubbed at his back, standing up to squint against the setting sun. He was getting too old for this; much too old. Before anything else, he had to get a message to Bishop Sasarai. A report was overdue.

**-Sarah-**

Sarah squinted against the brilliant hues of the setting sun, tracing her fingers idly over the shell of a Water Rune crystal. She did not feel the lingering heat of the eventide sun, but she could imagine it, sweltering over the swaying fields of the aptly named Grasslands. From her perch on a low hill, she could see miles in every direction, but chose to turn her back on Bishop Sasarai's sprawling encampments in favor of the endlessly open landscape before her.

"I don't believe we've met before," a voice cut in behind her.

She turned to see Luc approach her, hesitating with a boot on the edge of the precipice. Only his eyes were visible through the impassionate mask, but she could imagine the smile on his lips.

She glanced at the distant activity in the camp below before she smirked. "Indeed, Masked Bishop. I would dearly love to make your acquaintance."

With a few slow steps, Luc was beside her. He placed his hand on her shoulder. Sarah relaxed, pausing to feel the warmth of his touch through the leather gloves. When he pulled back his hand, he ran it through his sweat-soaked hair.

"I shouldn't have dressed for Harmonia. This heat is grueling."

Sarah reached out a hand towards him. "I could use my rune to—"

"No." He pulled away, placing his fist against his side. "No more runes."

She frowned. "Not even your own?"

He faced her, pushing his mask closer. "People will have to get used to life without runes. Most of all me. Remember?"

A chill that had nothing to do with the Water Rune ran down her spine. "Don't say that. You can still find another way."

He turned his back on her. "No."

She frowned. Did he think this discussion was over? Well, he was in for a rude awakening if he did. She wouldn't just let go that easily. Men needed a good talking to now and then, and she was just the woman to give it to him. He was too stubborn; that's all! Letting it go for now, she sighed, and asked, "How was sleep?"

He squared his shoulders. "Brief."

She sneered. He didn't have to sound so satisfied! "Let me help you—"

Luc ran a hand over his scalp, pausing while clutching a handful of hair, as if something had occurred to him suddenly. "Something is amiss."

Her heart leapt, and she looked around. "What?"

"No, not here. Elsewhere. There's something… It doesn't have to do with Sasarai. I'm confident that… No, it's something else entirely."

Sarah stepped closer, tilting her head to get a better look at his eyes. "Is it… the rune?"

"It's _from _the rune." He turned to look at her, struggling to express a concept he could not quite voice. "It's… a memory, but not of the past, but of the future. Do you understand?"

She raised a brow. "Not quite."

He shook his head. "Neither do I. But the True Wind Rune is trying to tell me something. There will be… interference. And something is about to awaken… Something we thought was lost."

"You need to focus," she said. She was about to say, 'you need rest,' but thought better of it.

Luc watched her in silence, and then turned to walk back down the hill.

"Yes. The war is about to begin."

Without moving, she watched him go.

**-Hugo-**

The dream was still affixed to the curb of Hugo's consciousness when he shot up from sleep. Lying there, breathing heavily as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found himself staring at the hardwood of an unfamiliar ceiling. Outside, the familiar sounds of crickets and frogs chirping in the Grasslands night soothed his spirits, but some moments passed before he remembered where he was; sleeping on the floor of the Wind Seeker wagon that had been vacated to make room for him and Chris.

Chris. She seemed asleep, though he could hardly hear her breathing behind the veil that separated the bed sized for two built into the wall of the wagon. It was sized for two, but not for two such as them, and though Hugo could not understand her needs for privacy, he had not hesitated to give it to her.

He blinked, wiping sweat from his brow as he leaned on an elbow, watching her sleeping for form vaguely outlined behind the veil. In the dream, it had been his hand that thrust the blade into Lulu's back. A far more brutal, deliberate act, beyond anything he had ever accused Chris of. The thought poisoned his mind.

He clambered to his feet. Padding over to the window, he parted the silky blue curtains and looked out to see the moon high on the night sky. The sun was far from rising. He glanced at his crumpled bedclothes and shook his head. He doubted if he would be able to get back to sleep. Linens rustled behind him, and he froze. Chris turned restlessly in her sleep. The memory was faint, but she'd been there, in his dreams. Hugo swallowed.

He had to go for a walk.

**-Caesar-**

Caesar Silverberg scratched at his neck, blowing a stray lock of hair from his face as he leaned out the window of the wagon he shared with Apple and, of late, Lily Pendragon. It had been a chance encounter, but circumstances had forced the three of them to share a wagon while traveling with the Wind Seekers. He pulled at his collar and exhaled. The heat was unbearable, but then, he very much doubted if there was a wagon large enough to comfortably share with that insufferable Pendragon woman.

Movement in the sleeping caravan caught Caesar's eye, and he held his breath and watched as a figure climbed down from the front of a nearby wagon. When the moon's touch swept over the man's features, he saw that it was Hugo, the Karayan who had become a part of their band of misfits at the Brass Castle gates.

Caesar studied him as he wandered aimlessly between the wagons. He kept his distance from the hastily erected military tents, where restless soldiers stood on watch around glowing fire pits. Hugo kept walking, but moved neither closer nor farther from the wagon he'd emerged from. So, he wasn't going to escape? Caesar wondered at the events that had brought him and his so-called wife, 'Helen,' to this time and place. Captain Huarn clearly suspected the two, or the woman at least, and Caesar would wager a potch or two that there was more than met the eye to the presumptive couple. It seemed too obvious. But then, he had to admit, the situation was made for delicate hands to handle, and the captain's hands were tied for as long as there was doubt to their identities. If he committed to his suspicions, he would leave himself wide open for a counterattack, in whatever form, and of course he would not want that. Caesar very much looked forward to seeing how this little charade would play out. He could not help but wonder if his brother were somehow involved in all of this. Sometimes he felt as if everything bad that happened in the world could be traced back to Albert's agile fingers.

Behind him, the Pendragon woman stirred and muttered something in her sleep. Sighing, Caesar sank down from the window onto the small cot he'd been awarded. He would need some sleep if he were to deal with the woman again tomorrow.

Not to mention Apple.

**-Chris-**

That morning, Chris found Hugo outside of the wagon, watching the Wind Seekers pick up their belongings and prepare for departure as the morning sun washed over the encampment. A fresh breeze kept tossing her hair into her face, but Hugo had assured her in most serious tones the night before that a recently married Wind Seeker woman would keep her hair loose and free. She was sure she had seen women in the caravan with their hair put up in fanciful dos, but who was she to doubt his words when he was so adamant about it?

She shook back her hair as she approached him.

"Have you been up long?"

He squinted up at her. "A while."

She frowned. She could tell by the bags under his eyes that he had been up most of the night. She had to bite back the desire to berate him about staying up. Why it was any of her business at all, she could not say. It really was not. He could take care of himself.

"You have… interesting dreams," she said.

Even without his eyes, she knew when he had left the wagon. Even before then, he had rested fitfully, and with only the veil separating their resting places, she'd been privy to the incoherent mumblings he'd produced in his sleep. Colorful mumblings, to say the least, before the dream had turned sour and Hugo woke up in a fit of troubled gasps. She couldn't help but flush as she pushed down the memory. Who had he been dreaming about, she wondered? Now _that _certainly was none of her business.

Hugo's brow shot up, but then he grimaced and nodded. "It was nothing. I just had a nightmare."

A nightmare? Well, it certainly ended that way. But that couldn't have been all of it. Not with the snatches of monologue she'd picked up.

"If it bothers your rest, I can find somewhere else to sleep." There was not a hint of resentment in his voice.

"No," she said without hesitation. "I slept well enough." She shielded her eyes from the quickly rising sun and looked out over the Wind Seekers and the soldiers as each group dealt with the final preparations for the day's journey. She _had _slept well; that was true enough. But more importantly, she was not about to force even more of the Wind Seekers to vacate their homes to accommodate her. She could not expect things to be as they had back in Vinay. Hugo obviously had no compunctions about nor serious problems with sleeping in the same wagon as her, so why should she? He certainly had better reasons to resent her.

She looked out over the swaying grasses on the horizon. The caravan had veered off the old stone road and now followed the semblance of a dirt track through the grass ocean. "Why does the caravan not follow the most direct route towards the border?"

Something gloomy came over Hugo's eyes. "This is the most direct route."

Chris blinked. "No, it is not." She waved her hand at the landscape as if to draw a path across the hills and plains. "The path we are following takes us a considerable distance around where we should be traveling to get to Chisha as quickly as possible. You must have noticed this." She tilted her head at him.

Hugo was beside her. He spoke in a low voice.

"The straight path would take us through the forbidden ground."

"Forbidden?"

Hugo placed a hand on her shoulder. "You know how the War of the Fire Bringer ended?"

She knew what her history books said, but not what the Karaya taught their children. "Enlighten me," she said.

Hug nodded. "The war ended with a final conflict right here, in the Grasslands, between the Flame Champion's coalition and the Harmonians. Because the Flame Champion couldn't keep the True Fire Rune under control, there was a huge inferno that swallowed everyone, Harmonian and Grasslander alike. Thousands of people died there."

Chris nodded slowly, fixing his eyes with her.

"The Forbidden Ground is the site of the inferno."

Hugo stared into nothing.

Chris was about to ask a question when a shout interrupted them.

"This is insufferable! Is there no one here who will tend to my needs?"

It was a young woman's voice. It had caught Hugo's attention, and the blood had nearly drained from his face. Turning in surprise, Chris watched as a familiar face emerged from a nearby wagon.

A face she hadn't seen in years.

**-Yumi-**

Yumi squatted down at the edge of the woods, watching the encampment through dense bloodwood leaves swaying in the breeze. To her eyes, the wagons in the distance were the size of stones fit to be clasped in her hand. Figures, like fire ants milling about an anthill, appeared and disappeared behind the vehicles, and smoke rose from evening campfires in the midst of the makeshift wagon fort.

She ran her fingers over the trunk of a tree, feeling the roughness of the bark through her leather gloves. She squinted at the shapes passing by.

"I think I see Harmonian soldiers."

Yun's eyes were closed as she adjusted her fur-lined dress-jacket. "Yes."

"That might be a problem."

"No."

Yumi smirked, turning to look at Yun. Eyes still shut tight, the apple-cheeked girl smiled without breaking her concentration.

"We should stay here. She will come to us."

Yumi smoothed down the skirts of her own dress-jacket over her thighs, sighing and pushing out her lower lip. "Little sister, you'll tell me beforehand if there's going to be trouble, won't you?"

Yun giggled, covering her mouth.

Letting slip another deep sigh, Yumi shook her head and kept watching the wagons.

A smile crept back onto her face.

**-Lily-**

Lily adjusted her wide-brimmed, feathered hat as she stormed out of the wagon and skipped down onto the ground. Caesar hurried behind her, raking his hands through his hair and buttoning up his jacket.

"Bylsma? Where are you?" she called. Where was that woman? She was being treated without respect. First, she had to share a wagon—her, _share _a wagon!—and with such maddening nitwits no less. Then, there was no breakfast, and no service to speak of at all. Certainly no lunch! She huffed when she saw that the Wind Seekers were at best halfway done with their morning preparations. They should be well on their way by now! There was no word for these conditions but _insufferable_.

Caesar caught up with her. "Listen, don't you think you're asking a little too much, here? I mean—"

Lily silenced him with a glower, to which he had no answer but a grimace.

"Bylsma?" Grumbling, Lily stalked towards the elder's colorful wagon near the middle of the caravan. No doubt she was sleeping the day away. How these people got anything done without her, she had no idea. Worse yet, people seemed to be avoiding her, not that she could understand why. Here, Wind Seekers carried their sacks behind their wagons. There, others hid in their chores, knowingly ignoring her. Even the children seemed to be giving her a wide berth! She pushed past an oafish young man standing in her way.

"'Scuse us," Caesar muttered, bowing his head.

Lily paused, blinked, and turned to get a better look at the face of the man she'd pushed past. Her eyes bulged.

"Hugo? What are you doing here?"

He tensed up, glancing both ways as if seeking an escape. Him, of all people? How rude!

Then she saw the woman at his side.

Lily gasped. "You are…!"

Chris' mouth opened, and Hugo's hand went to his knife. Then, Caesar was behind them, grinning as he put a hand on each of their shoulders.

"—married!" he finished. "That's right! You're a _very _perceptive woman!"

"Caesar, don't be ridiculous. This is—"

"It's true," Hugo said, snatching up Chris' hand. Chris gave a look of surprise, but it quickly turned into a nod and a small smile.

"Yes, we are married," she said.

Lily paused. Caesar was giving her the strangest look, motioning with his head towards her as his features tensed up briefly. Chris kept glancing to her side, splitting her gaze between Lily and something else. Lily followed her eyes and saw that a group of soldiers were approaching them, led by Captain Huarn, who stalked towards them with a look of determination and purpose on his face.

"Lady Pendragon?" he called out. The soldiers fanned out, and the captain was before her. He bowed at the waist, keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword. "I am Captain Huarn, of the 282nd West Company, of Harmonia."

Lily mouth twitched. She glanced at Caesar and back at Captain Huarn. "A gentleman, at last!" She crossed her arms over her breast. "Can I help you, Captain Huarn?" Her mind raced. Hugo and Chris, married? Impossible. She fought down a frown. Yes, impossible. Definitely. But something was going on here, and Caesar seemed to be in the know. How could she possibly have missed the two of them joining the caravan? When had that happened? People were keeping her in the dark!

Captain Huarn bowed once more. "If it pleases you, I would like to have a word with you in private, Lady Pendragon."

Lily furrowed her brow. "Is something amiss, Captain?"

"Not at all," he said, smiling. "If it pleases my lady…?" He waved his outstretched arm at the sizeable brown canvas tent erected near the middle of the caravan. Around them, all activity had died down, as the Wind Seekers watched the scene unfold, huddled around their wagons.

Lily nodded. "Of course."

Glancing back, she saw all three give her the strangest looks.

She shrugged.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo felt his heart sink as he watched Lily follow Huarn as if she had not a care in the world. The captain's soldiers spared the three of them one last glance before they hurried off to escort the pair towards the tent. He turned to meet Chris' eyes. "You know her, too? The Spirits must be angry at us."

Chris sighed. "The Goddess certainly is not smiling."

His fingers felt clammy on the hilt of his dagger. He looked at the red-headed boy Lily had called Caesar, trying to gauge his intentions. "Listen—" he began.

Caesar's eyes were fixed on the blade of his dagger. He grimaced. "If I'd wanted to blow your cover, all I'd needed to do was to keep my mouth shut just now. Though I'm still not sure if it had any effect on her. She can be pretty thick-headed."

Chris looked him up and down. "Are you traveling with Lily?"

"'Fraid so," he said. He looked almost apologetic.

She took Hugo by the arm and led them out of sight from the soldiers. "I do not trust Lily to pull the wool over Huarn's eyes. I hesitate to say this, but we might need to make the first move." She had planted her other hand on her waist, looking somewhat lost without a sword at her side.

Hugo nodded. He pulled out his own dagger and presented it hilt first. "Here."

Her lips parted momentarily, but she took the weapon, staring at the wavy patterns carved into the hilt.

"I can't—" she began.

"Just use it," Hugo said. He pulled out Lulu's dagger, testing its edge on his finger. Keeping their weapons low, they began to stalk towards the captain's tent. Caesar hesitated, eyes darting this way and that, but then he nodded and veered off from them.

"Hey!" he called out to some nearby Wind Seekers. "A little help, here?"

Hugo drew a deep breath. He looked at Chris, and they nodded at each other. He thought about the spear-wielding soldiers surrounding the miniature encampment, and weighed his odds.

Well. Better than dying in his sleep.

**-Huarn-**

With a smile, Huarn sank into his fold-out chair across the table from Lily Pendragon. It was difficult to contain the sense of triumph. He felt Serfein's presence in the shadows; her eyes on him. Even better that she should be here to witness his success.

"Lady Pendragon, you're well acquainted with the Silver Maiden, I take it?"

Lily's face was blank. "Who?"

Huarn's brow rose. He leaned forward in his seat. "Chris Lightfellow."

"Oh. Yes, we've met before."

Settling back, Huarn tapped his fingers together. "But you didn't expect to see her here."

Lily blinked. "I don't understand what you mean."

Huarn froze. He peered at the woman across the table. She had taken her ostentatious hat off and placed it upon the command table, and now sat twirling a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked honestly perplexed. How could that be?

Huarn cleared his throat. "Were you surprised to meet Chris Lightfellow here?"

"I did?"

She looked almost bored where she sat! Huarn felt blood pumping into his cheeks. Suddenly, Serfein's presence was not such a soothing thing. If he'd ever seen the woman smile, he would've sworn she was doing it now. He suppressed a brief frown and tried to put on a pleasant face. If the girl would play games with him, he would abide by her rules.

"Your friends from outside," he said, pausing to run a hand over the chair's arm. "You know them well?"

Lily puffed herself up. "Yes, we're good friends."

Huarn nodded slowly, smiling. "I never caught their names."

The girl smiled. "Really? That's a shame."

Huarn almost darted out of his seat. Slowly, surely, he drew a deep breath and cradled the chair's arms with his hands.

"Perhaps you can tell me," he managed through gritted teeth.

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Is this an interrogation?"

Huarn shot up, hands balled into fists. A look of surprise came over Lily's face, but she met his glare with a calm patience, as if watching a child throw a tantrum. He _could _detain her. He could, but, it would make a mess of things. Above all, it would be a headache.

"Well, is it?" she asked.

Hesitating, Huarn glanced at the shadows where Serfein was waiting. He then fixed his eyes on Lily Pendragon.

Weighing her fate in his mind.

**-Chris-**

Chris and Hugo squatted behind the corner of a wagon, making passes with their eyes at the commander's tent from which Lily had yet to emerge. Chris squeezed the dagger in her hand—she'd been surprised but, somehow, touched to find Hugo willing to lend her the weapon—and kept her mind spinning by counting the steps of a lone soldier wandering about the tent in a confused semblance of order. The soldier was watching the frantic motion of men and women and carts and wagons around the tent, but seemed powerless to influence or make sense of it.

At Caesar's word, the Wind Seekers had erupted into a whirlwind of activity. Horses were trotted around the area, while a wagon was drawn aimlessly across the caravan, surrounded by wheelbarrows carrying little or nothing between the wagons. The Wind Seekers were alive with conversation; shouts of instruction and admonition shot between the work groups running around seemingly without direction. In the middle of it all stood Bylsma, hands planted at her sides as she watched the chaos unfold around her. The soldiers had, at first, tried to stop the madness; tried to get the Wind Seekers to settle down and clear a path around the commander's tent and their own pickets, but after speaking at length with the Wind Seeker elder, they had resigned themselves to merely watching.

Caesar was fanning his face as he sat down beside them, out of the frazzled soldiers' field of vision. He grimaced.

"That's the best I can do on such short notice."

Chris glanced at Hugo, then shrugged.

"I am impressed."

Hugo nodded. "You've got a knack for this sort of thing."

Caesar chuckled. "It runs in the family."

Chris followed the soldier with her eyes as he struck up a conversation with a sergeant. Neither man seemed sure of himself. She watched them shake their heads, pointing at the ongoing chaos around them and shrugging.

"We need to make our move. Lily has been in there long enough. I do not think she will come out." Where was Nash when you needed him? She frowned.

Hugo grunted, flicking his dagger from hand to hand.

"Listen," Caesar said, licking his lips. "I really have to say, I advice against this."

Chris and Hugo both fixed them with their stares. Caesar grimaced, pulling at his collar.

"I'm just saying, you're outmatched. I mean, you two look like you'd wrestle a boar and everything, but it'd be outright stupid to charge into that tent without at _least _some sort of plan. Really."

Hugo looked at her and smirked. "We've been through worse. Right?"

Chris winced. "Right."

Caesar muttered something under his breath. "Look, just listen for a second—"

"Don't listen to him," a new voice said. "Caesar's just a busybody who's always trying to convince others to do what he wants. Don't let him talk you out of anything!"

Chris had shot to her feet the moment she heard the voice. Her eyes now bulged from their sockets. From the other end of the wagon, Lily came strolling around the corner. She adjusted her hat and grinned.

"What?"

Chris shared a stunned look with Hugo. She shook her head. "Nothing." She walked up to the girl. "What did you tell him?"

Lily threw out her arms. "Nothing. He was a pussycat to my touch." She strutted, hands planted at her waist.

Hugo exhaled slowly, then muttered something under his breath.

Caesar rubbed his hands together, looking either which way. "Can I suggest that we find a quieter and cozier place to talk?"

No one objected to that. They started down the still-chaotic jumble of wagons as the caravan began to move in earnest.

Lily leaned in to give her a strange look. "I had no idea you got married."

Chris sighed. "It's a long story.

Chris would not glance back, but she could hear Huarn's orders being relayed to the officers, and through them, to the soldiers. Soon, the Wind Seekers would be under way again. And not a moment too late.

**-Huarn-**

Huarn sagged back into his chair with a sigh, rubbing at his brow.

"That girl… She really is the daughter of the Mayor of Tinto?"

Serfein walked up to the tent flap, feeling the canvas. "Yes."

Huarn shook his head, chuckling. "Imagine that; Harmonia's agents extending such courtesy to a _mayor_."

Serfein tilted her head. "Tinto is a powerful city-state. The Lord Mayor has more influence than many kings and queens. In fact—"

He held up a hand. "Spare me the lecture. What do you make of Lady Lily?"

She walked slowly along the edge of the tent, running a gloved hand along the canvas. "She is either a genius playing the fool, or a fool playing the genius. Either way, she is supposed to be a friend of Chris Lightfellow."

Huarn rubbed at his chin, narrowing his eyes. "Howling Voice Guild intelligence?"

Serfein stopped, facing him. "Common knowledge."

"So you keep saying," he muttered. Standing up, he thrust his hands into his pockets. "So she'd recognize Chris Lightfellow, without a doubt."

They were both silent for a moment.

"I should spy on them," she said. "I will find the truth."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No. Something bothers me."

There was a twitch at the corner of her mouth, and she took a step forward. "You should see this as more evidence of the connection."

Huarn frowned. "I'm not with the Howling Voice. I need to be _sure _before I put a sword in someone. I need to _know_." Realizing that he had raised his voice, he took a deep breath and sat down in his chair. Curse the Guild to chaos and beyond!

"How can you still doubt?" Serfein asked.

He turned his head towards her. "Let's say we assume we're right. Let's say the Silver Maiden is alive and is trying to trick us. Well, what if this is a red herring? What if the Silver Maiden sent a decoy to string us along. Even if we extract a confession from this 'Helen,' it might turn out to be nothing but smoke and mirrors, and meanwhile, the true Silver Maiden runs free in the Grasslands."

Serfein leaned against the central pole. "Do you really think her capable of such subterfuge?"

Huarn balled up his fist, feeling the leather of his glove crunch in his hand. "I don't know. But I do know that General Kalanov was _sure _that Ghanmar would come through the pass."

"Kalanov was your grandfather." Her face betrayed no emotion.

"Assassinated by gunners." The words felt like bile in his throat.

"Executed," Serfein said. "The Guild serves the Perpetuator."

He was not so sure of that. "I will not make the same mistake. I will not be _sure_, when there is still the possibility of an error."

"As you wish. What would you have me do?"

"I need you out there, looking for more trails of the Silver Maiden. And I need you to make sure that the siege doesn't fail because we didn't anticipate the Zexen counterstroke."

Serfein started towards the exit. "As you wish."

After she left, Huarn stood. Hands clasped at his back, he stared at the flickering light of the lantern suspended from the canvas. The Silver Maiden might yet elude him, but he was not done. All he had to do was to prove beyond doubt that Helen was none other than Chris Lightfellow, and not an impostor, nor another person entirely. He crunched his gloves in his fists, relishing the sound of crinkling leather.

He needed to push her buttons.

**-Chris-**

"My, my," Apple said, putting the hot tea pot down on the bloodwood table. The cups clattered with the motion of the wheels over the rocky ground, as the five of them sat on chairs, beds, and the floor of the cramped space inside the wagon Lily shared with Caesar and Apple.

Smoothing her skirt, Apple pushed her glasses back against the tip of her nose and sat down, one leg over the other.

"So, you're friends of Lily?"

Hugo shrugged, "Not really—"

"Yes," Lily said, beaming. She gave Chris and Hugo each a quick pat on the back.

Chris cleared her throat as she picked up her cup. "Lily, listen. We would rather you not—"

"This," Lily said, pointing at Chris, "Is the Silver Maiden of Zexen. The captain of the knights." She gave a satisfied smirk. "Can you imagine that? She's almost as famous as I am."

Chris sighed, sipping her tea. "Never mind," she mumbled into the cup.

Caesar and Apple gaped at her.

"You're Chris Lightfellow?" Apple asked. She adjusted her glasses as if to better see her. "I'd heard you were young, but…" She shook her head.

Hugo stood up from the floor, nearly hitting his head on a lantern dangling from the rough motion. He steadied himself against the wall.

"I think it's too late to try to keep the mice in the bag. They already know too much. Huarn's not letting us go, no matter what, I think, but maybe together we'll stand a better chance of reaching Chisha. If we can make contact with my mother…"

Caesar's ears perked up at that. He and Apple shared a look.

"You have the look of a Karayan warrior," she said. "Could your mother be Chief Lucia?"

Hugo frowned, but nodded.

"What are the odds…?" Caesar muttered.

Apple sat up straight. She pointed to Chris, then to Hugo. "And you two are…?" She passed over the word.

"—No," Chris and Hugo said simultaneously.

"We are pretending to be husband and wife to evade notice." And how well it had worked so far. Chris' sighed.

"It's complicated," Hugo said.

Caesar rested on his side, looking up at them. "I'll bet. Don't Zexeners usually hate Grasslanders, and vice versa?"

"Usually," Hugo said.

Chris cleared her throat. "As Hugo said, it is complicated. He and I have become… friends." She almost stumbled over the last word. Even then, she almost felt she wanted it back. Did Hugo feel the same? She glanced furtively at him, but saw no reaction. No, of course not. He wouldn't feel the same; not after what she was guilty of. And it had been an exaggeration on her part, naturally. She emptied her cup, staring into it.

Lily leaned in. "So," she whispered. "Hugo's available?"

Chris nearly dropped the tea cup. "What?"

Lily nudged her shoulder, nodding at Hugo. "If you two aren't an item, that means he's available."

"Certainly not," Chris hissed. She blinked, catching herself. "I mean," she said in a low voice, "I do not know. You will have to ask him." She glanced at Hugo. He didn't seem to have caught any of their conversation, but was instead intently watching a colorful rug hung out to dry in the window as he balanced against the wall. Strange, she'd never thought about it. Maybe he had some fiancé back in Karaya. What was left of it. As the chief's son, it seemed natural that he would have. Not that it concerned her. But Lily had asked, after all.

Lily shrugged, smiling at Hugo as she whispered, "That doesn't matter. I just wanted to be sure that you don't want him."

Chris froze, staring at Lily. She could not think of anything to say to that.

**-Alron-**

"Sir Borus," Alron said, standing up to extend his hand to the man who walked up this table. "I'm glad you gave me this chance to explain myself."

Borus took his hand. "I received your message." He seemed stiff, and his eyes swept over the rundown taproom of the Brass Castle tavern. It was a slow day, but as the late afternoon crossed into nighttime, people had begun to filter into the taproom to escape from the toils of the day. Alron's table was in an alcove near the back of the smoke-filled room. His sword was laid out across the wooden bench beside him.

"Please, have a seat." Alron motioned for the chair. With a nod, Borus sat, and Alron joined him.

Borus' eyes wandered. When they met his, they hardened. "I need to know that what the Captain said about you is not true. I need to be sure."

Alron nodded slowly, placing his palms on the table. "I understand. Do you believe it's true?"

Borus hesitated, but then shook his head. "A knight would never act in such a manner. But why would the Captain lie? I cannot reconcile these two untruths."

"She did not lie," Alron said. "But neither is it the truth."

"How is that possible?"

Alron leaned forward, hands clasped before Borus. "You've seen some strange things of late, have you not?"

"At Iksay, I saw the Captain die… But it was an illusion." Borus frowned at the table, pursing his lips as he obviously struggled to make sense of the situation. He looked up at Alron hopefully. "Are you saying that… this was an illusion, too?"

Alron leaned back. "Yes." Predictable Borus, filling in the blanks. This would work out, after all. He felt a bit guilty about lying to a knight, and a good man too, but Borus was blinded by the woman's beauty. He was a true patriot, but his lust for the Captain was his failing. He would be made to see eventually that the future of Zexen was more important than a woman. This was the right path to walk.

"The Grasslanders are the source these illusions, Sir Borus. Their heathen shamans weave demonic spells to ensnare our minds; turning knight against knight. They're trying to destroy us before the war even begins."

"But how…" Borus shook his head. "The Captain I saw in Vinay must have been the true one. She cannot have been an illusion. She was so…" He paused, burying his head in his hands with a troubled groan. "Can't I trust my own eyes?"

"She was the true Captain, Sir Borus. But she was not in control of her own mind at the time."

Borus' eyes flashed when he looked up. "What do you mean?"

Alron nodded eagerly. "Yes, she was under the spell of the barbarian, Hugo. Why else would he be present in Vinay? Why else would she take him to her bosom?"

Borus gritted his teeth. Alron could almost sense him bursting inside at the insinuation put forth. Inwardly, he smiled.

"That cur!" Borus stood, slamming his fist against the table. Around him, people looked up from their games of dice and cards to glance over at them, but beyond a few whispers, the order was soon restored. No one would question a knight, even one dressed as casually as Borus. Not to mention that some of them likely recognized the 'Swordsman of Flame.'

Borus face was red. "Yes, it all makes sense now." He paced along the long end of the table. "The Captain seemed so unwilling to speak of what had happened. It must have been the barbarian's influence." He turned to Alron. "Why else would she not trust me with this? And,"—he continued to pace—"why would she not outlaw you, if you had done those terrible things?"

Alron nodded. "You see!" The Lightfellow woman was playing right into his hand. He had considered that same question, but had reached the conclusion that the proclamation had been stayed so that word of her return to Vinay would be kept quiet. As far as most people were concerned at this time, the Silver Maiden had fallen in Iksay. Being considered dead, she would have far better chances of remaining undercover.

Borus gnashed his teeth. "Everything makes sense. Yes, the barbarian must be responsible, as you say. After all, you are a knight. You could never do such a horrible thing as the Captain said. It's laughable even to consider!"

Rage filled Alron, but he fought it down. Borus was definitely too deep in the Lightfellow woman's grasp. He had seen through her intentions—she was moving soldiers away from the heartlands of Zexen to the bolster the defenses at Brass Castle against the Harmonians. It was nothing less than treason. Would others notice? He had to admit, she had been discreet. The barbarians would tear Zexen to pieces if it was allowed to go on. But, once the woman was dead, she would make an excellent martyr to stoke Borus' rage against the Grasslanders. If Alron could guide events just so, he would be able to undo the damage that the woman had done, and perhaps even build upon it, making Zexen's position stronger. He looked up at Borus.

"Sir Borus, calm your nerves before you leave. Sit, and we'll have a drink."

Borus nodded, sitting down and calling for a tavern wench.

Alron smiled to himself.

**-Rina-**

Moonlight filtered down through the canopy of the forested ridge, glinting against the blades of weapons and on pieces of armor as the Grasslanders advanced. Rina marched at the front, hands parting her hair to display the light of the Mother Earth Rune's glow. The branches parted before them. Leaves and twigs shrank from their feet. Through the power of the rune, Rina felt the woods in her heartbeat.

Lucia stalked beside her, coiling and uncoiling her whip. Her brow was furrowed in concentration.

Hundreds of campfires lit up the night below the ridge like fireflies in a meadow. Sentries patrolled in the faint light, circling tents stacked in deep rows in the shadows.

Lucia crept up to the edge of the ridge and crouched there. She looked back, signaling her lieutenants, and then nodded. She looked up at Rina.

"We're ready."

Rina dropped her hands. "The camp looks calm. Do you think they noticed us?"

Lucia shrugged. "We'll attack. How do you feel?"

"I'll hold up my end of the bargain."

Lucia's lips were pressed together. She raised her hand to call the attack.

Bells tolled in the camp below. The Grasslanders stirred, startled by the sound. Before Rina could speak, she felt the presence of magic. It built, and she shrank back. Her eyes widened.

"Run!"

The wave hit the ridge with the force of a hurricane. Leafs rustled, then branches snapped, and then trees cracked and fell. Rina raised both hands, manifesting the power of her runes in a shield. The barrier buckled, and she was knocked down.

Rina's limbs ached. The gale drowned out all noise around her. She pushed onto her feet and scrambled back. Lucia dragged herself up beside her, blood pooling down her forehead from a wound near her hairline. Rina reached out and clasped her hand, pulling her along. The forested hill was littered with bodies, some cut down like grasses, others mangled as if by a giant's fist. Most of the trees lay sprawled over the ridge, laying bare the night sky.

Lucia screamed something, but the wind drowned it out. Clothes and hair flapped like wind-beat flags. She shook her head.

The living retreated.

(--)

**Author's Notes:**

Whew. It's been too long. I hope you enjoy it. The next chapter is already well under way, and it'll be up in two weeks.

As usual, comments both negative and positive are always welcome, because it's fun to read them. :)

**Next Chapter:**

The appearance of Yumi and Yun further complicate things. The marriage traditions of the Wind Seekers become more and more constricting. How far are Chris and Hugo willing to go to keep up the charade? As Huarn loses his patience, things come to a head. Lily, exuberant in her enthusiasm, might end up making matters worse. Borus races towards the Wind Seeker caravan, filled with rage.

And somewhere in the Forbidden Ground, something forgotten is about to awaken… Next time, in Blazing Waves, Burning Rain!


	17. Scar of Destruction

-Chris-

"The Ironheads hide their faces behind helmets. They hide their faces, because they are afraid to let the Spirits see them. They have grown apart from the land, like a flower that withers and dies. But where the flower turns to soil and feeds the earth, the Ironheads till the soil until it lies fallow and dead beneath their boots. They are a disease that infects through gold and silver coins. They are a plague, and a plague knows no mercy."

—Lament of Korgodth, First of the Saraak Warrior Chiefs

**Chapter XVII: Scar of Destruction**

(--)

**-Chris-**

Chris shielded her eyes from the midmorning sun as she looked out across the encamped caravan from the doorway of the wagon. The Wind Seekers were milling back and forth, rolling barrels of water and wine; pulling wheelbarrows rattling with bundles of cured meat and spice jars. She could see little sign of preparations for returning to the road. The tall grass had been stamped out into a level field to form a green, and the men were arranged in teams raising poles decorated in twigs and flowers to tower over the field. Where sun-bathed rock shot up from the green, Wind Seeker women draped in striped and fringed shawls stood around a crackling open fire, bracelets jingling as they carved the sides of boar meat and basted it with spiced gravy from long brass ladles, preparing it for smoking under a tawny awning. This was not a caravan preparing to leave.

Chris quickly tied her hair into a ponytail and lowered herself onto the ground. She could see Bylsma surrounded by Wind Seekers, listening to their concerns and giving directions. Chris stalked right up to her, nudging her way through the throng around the woman.

"I do not see moving wagons."

Bylsma wore a pleasant smile on her lips as she turned to face Chris. She raised an eyebrow. "Why, dear Helen, have you forgotten about the festival?"

Chris gaped. The Wind Seekers around her were filtering away to go about their work, some muttering under their breath or giving her angry looks, leaving the two of them alone on the green. She knitted her brows.

"The Grasslands are being invaded. Have _you_ forgotten?" She nodded at the Harmonian encampment, off to the side near the edge of the circle of wagons, where the soldiers were arrayed in rows and lines among their orderly tents for the morning inspection. Huarn had emerged from his tent and now paraded along the columns, scrutinizing each man under his command. "This is neither the time nor the place for a festival," Chris said.

Bylsma chuckled. "Come now; we wouldn't let this little squabble of a war keep us from the Feast of the Five Moons. It is not our way to order our lives around the arguments of soldiers. 'Never a year without fear.'"

Chris had heard that expression before. Skirmishes between Zexen and the barbarians had become almost a tradition as deep-rooted as the passing of the sun and moon. For the unaligned tribes living on the fringe of Grasslands society, war was just another facet of their lives; a natural hazard to adapt to. The Wind Seekers were not the only ones who had grown accustomed to incessant warfare, but she had always seen it in a different light. She had always believed that there could be no alternative. No other choice than to fight. Chris glanced back to see Hugo emerging from the wagon and hopping down from the driver's seat. She was not quite so sure anymore.

Chris nodded. "I understand. However, I urge you to reconsider."

Bylsma's smile showed teeth. "This is not for you to decide, _Helen._" She pulled her arm from its sleeve, holding it before Chris to display the Symmetry Rune. The sinuous crest pulsed with a silvery light from beneath the skin, most of the glow drowned out by the sun. "You have simply to obey your elder, and our traditions. Yes?"

Hugo strolled up beside her. He split looks between the two women, then asked, "Are we stopping?"

Chris' shoulders slumped. "Yes."

Hugo grunted, then leaned in to whisper, "You should never have sworn that oath, dear."

Chris flushed scarlet with embarrassment. She gave him a dirty look.

Bylsma smiled. "Good. Now, you two should be preparing for the feast. You wouldn't want to confuse our guests." She cocked her head at the Harmonian camp. Captain Huarn, having finished his inspection, stood leisurely watching them with his hands clasped behind his back.

Chris wiped her forehead, gritting her teeth at the woman. "You do not need to remind me."

Hugo shrugged. "How can we help?"

Bylsma took a step forward and placed one hand on each of their shoulders.

"You are newly wed. This Feast of the Five Moons is in your honor. It's to remind you of your commitment to each other."

Chris and Hugo exchanged glances.

"What?" she asked.

"You will spend the day in preparation," Bylsma said, dropping her hands and backing off. "When the sun sets, the feast will begin."

They were stopping for an entire day? Chris groaned. "Is there any way we could carry out the festival sooner?"

Bylsma's eyes narrowed. "At sunset. No sooner. In the meantime, the two of you should spend some time apart."

"I'll help you with that," a voice said. A woman sauntered up from behind, putting a delicate hand on Hugo's shoulder. She smiled sweetly. "I am Rakma, _tiam _to the elder."

Chris gave a start, narrowing her eyes at Hugo.

He seemed to sag under the woman's touch. He scratched his neck, glancing between Rakma and Chris. "_Tiam_… It means she is daughter to the elder's late sister, who has returned to the Spirits."

"You don't mind if I borrow your husband, do you?" Rakma asked with a tittering laugh.

Chris smirked. "I must ask that you return him in the same condition you received him."

Rakma laughed, tugging at Hugo's arm. Chris' lips twitched, but her smile did not falter. She felt an immediate dislike for the woman. Something about how she kept sweeping her one hand across the side of her face and tossing her hair. Did she think that she was subtle? Chris hoped not.

Hugo started to protest, but sighed when he found no support in the eyes around him. "Fine."

Rakma glanced back several times as she led Hugo off across the green, smiling and talking. With slouched shoulders, for once Hugo looked ungainly.

Lily was suddenly beside Chris, scowling at Rakma's back.

"You shouldn't leave him with that woman. Who knows what will happen." Her hands worked along the brim of her hat, as if no position would satisfy her.

Chris stared at her. "Do not be silly."

Lily raised a finger at Chris, shaking her head. "She's flirting with him. I can tell."

Chris rolled her eyes. "It is as Caesar said. You are a very perceptive woman."

Lily nodded absently, keeping her eyes on the couple as Rakma led Hugo to a group of women roasting meat and vegetables over an open fire. The women stopped their work to chat, and were soon laughing about something or other. Lily spared a quick glance at Chris, "I know. It's due to my cultured upbringing."

Chris groaned. "Lily, Hugo is just a boy. You cannot seriously believe that he would be interested in someone like Rakma."

Lily frowned at Chris. "You ought to take better care of your husband."

Chris threw up her arms.

**-Rina-**

The Grasslanders encountered the first of the Harmonian vanguards half a mile from the Uluath River. The horses' hooves were still damp from the crossing of the ford when the light cavalry thundered into sight. Bellows rose from the crest of the Grasslanders' forces, where Karayan warriors, still displaying mournful red bands on their sleeves, crowded alongside saraak shock troops leveling halberds and voulges at the enemy. Behind the closed front ranks, Rina could pick out small groups of Safir bowmen, their ears pierced with mementos of their fallen comrades. Lucia stood shoulder to shoulder with the frontline, brandishing a barbed whip in each hand.

Horses reared in panic, and the Harmonians made to retreat, but the Grasslanders struck from cover and took them by surprise. Rina raised her hand and invoked the power of the Mother Earth Rune to ripple out into ruptures in the soil beneath the hooves of the Ironheads' horses. Stones shot from the earth as the ground buckled. The steeds stumbled and fell, throwing riders and screaming as bones rattled and cracked. A cold smile played on Rina's lips. She was satisfied to see the Harmonians crumple. Her own ears were still raw with iron rings, each one a memento of a friend she'd buried in the Safir mountain home. The Harmonians would repay that debt in blood.

The outstretched Harmonian line met the Grasslanders with an audible crack. Steel clanged against weapons and armor and bit into flesh, severing muscle and tendon and spraying blood within the chaotic mass of people and animals. The group broke, and Harmonians fled from the edges of battle. Serrated arrows found their backs, mowing the fleeing soldiers down in the tall grasses.

The Harmonian lieutenant shouted out orders, standing firm at the heart of the battle. He was surrounded by half a dozen cavalrymen still seated on their horses, and another dozen or so unhorsed and clinging to their spears and bloodied swords. Then Lucia was among them, leading a small group of her own elite. She danced through the web of steel. The whips flashed, and men fell around her. The lieutenant spurred his horse towards her, raising his sword to take her head for a trophy. She turned, wrapped a whip around his arm, and tugged. He jerked and fell from the saddle. In one fluid motion, Lucia clutched the horse's empty saddle and hung from the side, snapping the coil of her whip at the man's neck. The lieutenant went still.

The remaining Harmonians were cut down. In a minute, the din of battle had receded, replaced by the cawing of ravens as the birds wheeled overhead, awaiting a feast. Rina pressed her lips together. At Uluath River, the ravens would have their fill.

**-Hugo-**

The sound of tall grass bending underfoot accompanied Hugo and Rakma as they strolled through the outskirts of the caravan. Curls of smoke rose from the green between the wagons, and a muddled din of chatter interspersed with merry laughter nearly drowned out the clang of steel and scuff of boots on bare dirt coming from the Harmonian encampment in the caravan's midst.

Rakma had paraded Hugo through group after group of her people, a flurry of thinly veiled greetings introducing him to most anyone, from the elderly matrons draped in fringed shawls and segmented clay necklaces to fresh-faced children, scurrying around the men as they labored, or playing games with twigs and clear glass beads in the dirt.

"You're not much different from us Grasslanders," Hugo said, gesturing towards the green. He glanced at Rakma, but no more. For whatever reason, the woman kept smiling, reminding Hugo of a black-tailed fox stalking a rabbit through a thicket of gnarlwood bushes. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had too much in common with the rabbit.

Chandelier earrings of polished brass clinked in Rakma's ears as she swayed her head. "We _are_ Grasslanders, Hugo."

He grunted. "But you're also Zexen."

"Yes."

Hugo shook his head. "It doesn't make much sense to me. Why don't you stick with either side? Wouldn't that be simpler?"

A wide grin split Rakma's face. "And you would have us side with the Clans."

He shrugged. "You seem more like clansmen than Zexen to me."

Rakma laughed; a soft tittering sound. "That's because you watch us with a clansman's eyes. You see much that is the same, but not quite enough… And the Zexen see much that is the same, but… not quite enough. We cannot change the way we are, Hugo. The way the Goddess made us."

Hugo grunted. The way the Spirits made us. "You spend most of your lives in the Grasslands. The Zexen won't protect you." He swept his hand at the wagons. "You're not equipped to protect yourselves. You trust to the clans to protect you."

Rakma smiled. "We've never asked you to protect us."

Hugo stiffened, but then stopped to exhale slowly. "No." But how could they ignore their plight?

They had stopped near the edge of the Waterwood, a small forest Hugo knew to be about an hour's trek from edge to edge through berry bushes and sparse bramble thickets. Rakma's lacquered acacia bracelets clattered as she stretched her hands out behind her back, puffing her chest up.

"Let's talk about something else. About her."

Hugo stared at Rakma. "Who?"

She laughed. "Your wife, of course."

"Oh."

"We are supposed to be cousins, after all. I'm supposed to know all about you."

Hugo sighed. "I'm starting to dislike my new family."

Rakma laughed, hands planted on her stomach.

Hugo glowered at her. "Anyway, there's not much to tell."

She peered up at him. "So there's nothing between the two of you? I find that difficult to believe."

"Believe it or not," Hugo said, half turning away. "It is what it is. We used to be enemies." The thought filled him with memories. It felt like an eternity since he climbed into her bedroom with a dagger drawn. "Now we're… friends." He shrugged.

"Friends," Rakma said. She studied her fingernails. "Isn't it funny how quick she was to accept your ruse?" She gave him a piercing look. "Isn't it funny how quick _you _were to suggest it?"

Hugo stared at her, feeling his cheeks slowly fill with color. He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively.

"It was just a spur of the moment. It means nothing. We are barely friends. We tolerate each other; that's all."

"So you say," Rakma said with a nod for emphasis. "But are you sure she feels the same way?"

Hugo tried to laugh, but the sound got stuck in his mouth. He'd never thought of it that way. But no; that was impossible. The moon would sooner rise at dawn. Chris couldn't possibly have feelings for him. He quickly quashed a memory of his dreams from his mind. It meant nothing. He frowned at Rakma. The woman was putting the most absurd ideas into his mind.

"I'm going for a walk."

Rakma grinned. "Don't run _too _hard."

Hugo glanced back at her as he left. Run? From what? Was she taunting him? He shook his head. Women made no sense at all.

Least of all Chris.

**-Chris-**

Boots struck dirt in rapid succession, followed by the ringing clang of steel on steel. Sweat pearled on the soldier's strained face. Huarn reached in and put his elbow in the man's stomach. He grunted and collapsed his guard, receiving a swift kick to his chin. His sword clattered against the fresh dirt.

Wheezing, the soldier laid on his back trying to catch his breath. Huarn put his foot on the hilt of the dropped sword and gestured for the man to be removed from the ring. Two square-jawed soldiers in their training tabards separated from the line to drag the man off, tracking dirt off into the grasses surrounding the sparring ring.

Chris stood at the edge of the cleared dirt, hands clasped at her waist as she watched the spectacle. Lily stood at her side, elbows out and fists against her sides.

Sword out, Huarn paced four steps in one direction, then retraced his steps, eyes passing over his soldiers. Huarn turned to look down his nose at Chris.

"I've heard it said, Helen, that the Silver Maiden is an accomplished swordsman."

Chris smiled. "I have heard many rumors, all conflicting."

Huarn swung around and kept pacing. "Of course, I find it difficult to believe that a Zexen knight could be a match for a properly schooled Harmonian swordsman. And I especially find it hard to believe that a woman could."

Chris' smile did not waver. She felt a measure of pride at that.

"As you say, Captain Huarn."

He scoffed, then bent down to pick the discarded sword from the dirt. In one single motion, he rose and threw the blade at her.

Chris froze, fighting her instincts. She remained in place as the blade whirled towards her.

With a dull thud, the blade bit into the earth between her legs, swaying like a tall sheaf of grass in a breeze. Chris exhaled slowly, glaring at Huarn.

"Pick it up," he said.

Chris leaned down and gripped the hilt, resisting the urge to test its weight. She pulled it up like a wooden paddle, holding it upright, parallel to her breast, the way she imagined a beginner might.

"I am afraid to disappoint you, Captain Huarn. I am no fighter."

Lily placed a hand on Chris' shoulder and stepped forward.

"I'll fight you."

Huarn bowed his head at the girl, smiling.

"Pardon, Lady Pendragon, but that won't do. A sword fight between the daughter to Tinto's mayor and a Harmonian captain? I wouldn't want anyone to misinterpret."

Chris could not imagine anyone would misinterpret Huarn's intentions. She shook her head, strolling past Lily and into the ring.

"How do I hold this?" she asked, pointing the sword at Huarn.

"Like so," Huarn said, leveling his own weapon at just the right angle towards her.

Chris mimicked him, but dropped her stance several inches too low. Goddess, it was difficult to fight the years of training and conditioning.

Huarn moved in a flash. He slammed his sword against hers, causing her hands to ring with the force. She winced, backing off and shaking her hands one at a time.

"I told you, I—"

"Here I come," Huarn said. His eyes gleamed furiously, and his hair tossed with each step as he advanced in a blur of motions. His sword danced, clanging against hers from both sides, striking sparks once, twice, three times. Chris held onto the sword for dear life, gritting her teeth as she tried to repress her reactions. The flat of his blade smacked against her arms, cutting cloth and leaving bruises. She backed off, barely keeping her balance. Huarn pressed the attack, driving her around the ring as he delivered punishing broadside blows to her arms, legs, and sides. Grunting with pain, she slouched, bunching up like a wounded wolf. She could see anger flaring in Huarn's eyes, frustration building with each stroke of his sword. As his fury built, so too did the force of the blows. Chris yelped with each hit. Finally, with a strike to her hand, she let go the hilt.

As it clattered to the ground, Huarn erupted with rage. He howled, leaping forward to plant his knee in his stomach. The blow knocked the air from her lungs, and he followed with a shove, pushing her back. She hit the ground hard, head ringing, world turning briefly dark and then returning in a blur. Her limbs ached.

"Stop! Stop it!" Lily shouted.

Chris shook her head, looking up. Lily was standing above her, arms outstretched to either side between her and Huarn. The captain's face was scarlet with rage and slick with sweat, his breast and shoulders heaving like an agitated bear. He wielded his sword like a club.

Chris could see people all around them; Wind Seekers gathering at the edge of the scene, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Their shocked murmurs were low but audible in the silence following Lily's outburst. The Harmonian soldiers surrounded their captain, hands on their weapons but frozen in place, like perched hawks ready to alight at the first sign of trouble.

Huarn turned to spit, sheathing his sword. He ran his hands through his hair, and pushed Lily aside to look at Chris. His eyes were still flashing, and his hands quivered with rage and frustration.

"Well, you can't fight. But that doesn't prove anything. Honestly, I'd hoped the rumors were true." With a shrug, he turned and stalked away.

Directing a scowl at Huarn's back, Lily reached down to help her up. After a moment, Bylsma pushed through the crowd and took her other arm, and the two women dragged her to her feet. Chris pushed away, standing on her own shaky legs.

"Are you alright?" Lily asked, frowning.

Chris shook her head. The world was still spinning. Wiping sweat-clogged dirt off her clothes, she looked down at the ruined garments. The jacket and breeches were cut in dozens of places, and dirt had smudged the fabric in large streaks.

"I need a change of clothes." She wrinkled her nose. She stank of sweat. "And a bath."

**-Hugo-**

Hugo's eyes widened as he recognized the figure crouched by the wagon, pulling on the second of a pair of scuffed leather boots. Nash had changed most about his appearance, dying his hair a surprisingly convincing hazel and replacing his fine green jacket with a fringed leather vest striped in shades of red and yellow and black that he must have found in the caravan.

"I was starting to think that you left," Hugo said.

Nash looked up. As recognition dawned on his face, he grinned.

"Not quite, my lad, not quite." Pulling on the boot, he stood up and glanced at Hugo. "I see you're not with your lady love."

Hugo smirked. "We decided to spend some time apart."

Nash nodded. "Wise. I've found that all relationships begin to wear on you after a while." He smoothed down the vest, peering at himself from different angles.

Hugo scratched at his neck. "Nash, I wanted to ask you something."

Nash gave a start, looking up. "What's that?"

"Do you, uh, ever… dream?"

Nash raised his brow. "Where I come from, everyone does."

"Sure, but, I mean, do you ever dream," Hugo paused to clear his throat, "About someone? A person?"

A smile slowly spread on Nash's lips. "Sometimes. You'll have to be more precise. Just the other day, I had a dream about my late mother."

Hugo's cheeks burned. "Not that kind of dream."

Nash chuckled, leaning down to tie the worn laces on his boots. "What are you really asking, Hugo?"

Hugo stared at the air, shrugging and pacing about. "I mean, we're both men. What I mean to ask is, it's natural to dream about women, right?"

"That's more a statement than a question, but sure."

Hugo nodded. "And it's natural to dream about beautiful women."

"Sure, why not."

Hugo swallowed, crossing his arms and tilting his head to study, with great interest, the crude red-and-blue animal-shaped motif painted on the side of a wagon. "So, uh, it doesn't mean anything, right? It's just a natural thing. For men."

Nash came up behind him, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Hugo, I insist that you keep dreaming about beautiful women. After all, it's far preferable to dreams about withered old crones."

Hugo turned to face him. Nash's face was drawn, without the trace of a smile. Hugo shoved him.

"Don't joke around. I'm serious."

Nash chuckled. "Sure, sure."

Hugo averted his eyes. "What if it's just one woman?"

Nash grunted. "Limiting, don't you think? I'd say it's fine as long as it's the most beautiful woman."

Hugo kept his mouth shut.

Nash sighed. "Sure, it doesn't mean anything, I guess. Who's the woman?"

"No one in particular."

"Ah." Nash nodded. "That one."

Hugo glared at him.

Nash glanced at the edge of the caravan, where a group of children were running and laughing along the side of a wagon, twirling and tossing a length of rope festooned with feathers between them.

"Not that it has anything at all to do with what you just talked about, but you missed quite the show, just now." Seeing the puzzled look on Hugo's face, he grimaced. "Your wife had a falling out with our good Captain Huarn."

Hugo froze. "What are you saying? What happened?"

Nash shook his head. "Nothing serious, but she left to take a bath in the woods."

The scent of wet wildflowers and thornbush berries came to Hugo's mind. The secluded pond in the Waterwood was a fixture of his childhood. In peaceful times when they were children, Lulu and he had spent many lazy days in those waters.

He nodded. "So she's alright. That's good."

Nash's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the edge of the woods. "Say… Speaking of beautiful women, Chris is going to be as nature made her in that forest."

Hugo cleared his throat. "So?"

"So it's my opinion that we have a duty to the creed of manliness here. We would be letting men everywhere down if we didn't try to sneak a peek."

Hugo gaped. "What?"

Nash nodded.

"She might even be insulted if we didn't."

Hugo's eyes widened. "She would _not_."

"When the runes weave an opportunity of this sort, we have to take advantage of it. Don't you think she's beautiful?"

"No!"

Nash blinked. "You don't think she's beautiful?"

"That's not what I—" Hugo groaned, raking his hands through his hair. "I mean—"

"You know," Nash added, "Lily's there too."

Hugo fingered his collar. "That's not the point. We aren't going to do anything like that."

Nash went silent. Then he shrugged.

"Suit yourself. I'm going. Someone has to do the right thing." Hugo would have sworn the man was serious!

"Fine. Go." Nash wouldn't. There was no way he would.

Nash started off towards the edge of the Waterwood. He glanced back, grinning at Hugo. Just before he disappeared behind a wagon on the edge of the caravan, he turned back to wave.

Hugo stood his ground. Of course he was only joking. His heart pounded. He was joking, wasn't he? Nash had been gone for less than a minute when Hugo decided he had been serious. Cursing the True Runes, he set off after the man.

**-Chris-**

The smell of wildflowers was thick in the clearing. The serene waters of the pond erupted as Lily leapt in, splashing water over Chris and over the sun-dried rocks peeking out from the banks of the tiny lake. Unflinching, Chris wiped water from her cheeks and continued to peel off her dirty clothes. Wincing at the sight of the bruises and welts covering her arms, she cursed Huarn's name under her breath. She glanced down at the bundle at her feet; clothes she had borrowed from Rakma in a hurry. The undergarments looked comfortable, but the slender wool dress in stripes of purple, white, and red sported a conspicuously high-cut skirt, and left the arms bare. Bare! She would feel naked. The wide girdle looked uncomfortable, and the black stockings were barely decent. Without clothes of her own, Chris had to remember the saying about beggars and choosers, but she could not help but think that Rakma had chosen the most outrageous outfit at her disposal.

Lily's face broke the surface, her brown hair plastered to the sides of her face.

"C'mon. What's taking you so long?"

Chris knitted her eyebrows. The water looked so… dark. "Are you sure this is sanitary?"

Lily burst into peals of laughter, shaking water from her hair. "Don't be a goose! Were you expecting a handful of servants to wash and braid your hair?"

Chris opened her mouth, then frowned. "Of course not." One would have done just fine.

Dropping her jacket, Chris slipped the straps of her blouse past her shoulders, hugging the garment against her chest as she paused to look in both directions.

"Are you not worried that someone might see us?"

Lily arched her back, splashing water with each stroke of her arms, gliding across the pond. "Don't be such a prude. We're in the middle of the woods. Anything that sees your knightly rump here will be more interested in having it for dinner than anything else."

Chris sighed, frowning worriedly as she slipped out of her remaining clothes and hurried into the water. The hairs on her arms stood on end at the sudden chill, but she ducked down to her chin, breathing quickly. Lily had a sullen look on her face, eyes narrowed.

"What is it?"

Lily shook her head. "Nothing." A mischievous smile built on her face. "So, tell me about you and Hugo."

Chris toed through the muddy bottom, sticking to the shallow parts. "There is nothing to say. We are just trying to survive." Leaning her ear to the surface, she wrung a lock of hair in the water and was at once pleased and distraught to see that the golden yellow color stuck to the strands.

Lily scowled, sending ripples out around her as she treaded water. "Don't dance around the subject. Of course there's _something _going on. You two should be at each other's throats like snakes and mongooses, and here you are, pretending to be married?"

"It is a charade, nothing more. An inconvenience."

"So you keep saying. But it doesn't add up." Lily tilted her head. "Admit it; you think he's handsome."

Chris gave a short laugh as her cheeks filled with color. "Do not be ridiculous. He is just a boy."

Lily leaned back, smirking. "Right. And you're a wizened oak. You know, for an old hag, you have surprisingly smooth skin."

Chris shrugged. "I am considerably older than he is. I very much doubt that the thought would even cross his mind. Boys his age do not concern themselves with such things."

Lily's eyes crinkled with laughter. "Is that what you think?" She shook her head in apparent amusement. Then, she sighed, weaving whirlpools on the surface with her fingers. "It hardly seems fair, you know, for you to have such perky breasts even though you're a knight." She frowned. "With all those early days and all the harsh regimen, I would've thought…" She finished the thought with a shrug.

Chris coughed, washing down her shoulders. Her eyes widened as she noticed a mark on her arm, and held it aloft. It was the crest of the Hunter Rune, still glowing faintly where it sat branded into the flesh of her right bicep. Was the same true for Hugo? She had seen his bare arms on several occasions; how had she not noticed?

;Lily wrinkled her nose, swimming closer. "What's that?"

"It is a rune. It is something Hugo and I—"

There was a rustle of leaves behind them, and someone burst through the undergrowth. Yelping, Chris threw her arms around her chest and ducked beneath the surface. The rush of water roiled in her ears as the world went deaf. When she emerged, moments later, spitting water, she stared wide-eyed at the dumbstruck young man standing on the rocks.

Hugo had frozen in place like a statue, his eyes filling with terror.

"Where's Nash?" he blurted out.

Chris gaped. Lily thundered through the water, shouting, "Hugo! What were you _thinking_?" The girl swept her arm across the surface, sending a spray of water splashing into Hugo's face. He just stood there, his hair dripping wet against his forehead. He pursed his lips.

"I was just—"

Chris felt heat building in her face, and her breath quickened. "Why would you expect to find Nash here? Are you expecting company? A partner to help better frame the experience?"

Hugo stared at her, mouth working in silence.

"Well?" Chris snapped. "What are you waiting for? Leave." Her chest heaved with each breath.

"Leave." Hugo slowly nodded. He seemed to test the word on his tongue. "Right." His face burned a bright crimson as he turned and strode away through the bushes.

Chris and Lily waited in silence for several minutes before Lily spoke.

"Do you think he's gone? What if he's hiding?"

Chris exhaled slowly, then shook her head. "No. Hugo would not do that." And yet, he had done _this_. But as her temper began to cool and her heartbeat slowed, she became more amenable to the idea that there had been some sort of misunderstanding. Her cheeks flared again. There _would _be explanations; that much was sure.

Someone cleared her throat, and a voice sounded from the bushes behind them.

"I feel," a woman said, strolling into view, "We should make our presence known, now that Lucia's boy has made such an unexpected appearance." The woman filled out a wool dress-jacket with embroidered details of green thread, lined with rabbit's fur and slit at the thighs to reveal a pair of near-hidden brown shorts on legs otherwise bare to the boots.

"It wasn't unexpected," a childish voice said. Behind the woman, a girl in a long flat dress leaned out to wave at them, eyes shut as she smiled.

Chris tensed. "Who are you? You look like Grasslanders." It occurred to her that she had no weapon with her. In the pond, she was an easy target.

Dark brown hair, held in place with a lacquered wooden comb, fell in waves as the woman leaned her head against one shoulder, smiling pleasantly. "I am Yumi." She placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "And the little tyke is Yun."

Yun's lids popped open, revealing big, bright eyes. A wide smile split a face still showing traces of baby fat. "We're from Alma-Kinan. We've come to take you back with us."

**-Rina-**

Hails of arrows streaked over Uluath River, sailing back and forth between the approaching Grasslanders on the west side and the hastily erected Harmonian encampments on the east bank. The waters of the ford sloshed with the boots and hooves of warriors contesting the passage, and the river splashed and swirled with each falling body. From her vantage point atop a hillock, surrounded by Safir archers and a small Karayan bodyguard, Rina squinted at the scene, singling out a group of Harmonian reinforcements racing for the ford, and unleashing her Mother Earth Rune upon them. She struck each group in turn, wherever they were separated from the Grasslanders. She opened the earth beneath their feet, or raised ridges of stone to slow their approach, or sent sprays of rock from the ground to batter against their armor and break their bones.

The Harmonian rune bearers kept their distance, their magic brought to bear sparingly upon the Grasslanders. Still there was no sign of the rune bearer who had ambushed them the night before. A mere Cyclone Rune! She hadn't been so humiliated since she was three feet tall. Rina growled, and fangs of stone erupted amid a group of Harmonian cavalry. Could they have surprised them? Perhaps that rune bearer had been killed in a chance encounter with their troops. Still there was something gnawing at her; a doubt in the back of her mind that said that the Harmonians must know what they're doing. She'd fought them before, in Dunan, though Bishop Sasarai had been younger then. He would be shrewder now, and more experienced. She could not imagine that their strategists would be so inept. The Grasslanders pushed them from the river crossing, inch by inch but at an astounding rate. The Harmonians were falling back at an orderly pace, but she saw no signs of true resistance. She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her palm and kept focusing her attacks on the retreating soldiers, trying to keep them from organizing. The rune burned against her skin like a fevered ache.

The first saraak and Karayan warriors were spilling out across the grassy east bank of the river when the earth began to shake. Rina gasped and bit her lip as the rune on her forehead flared and seemed to sear her mind. She blinked away tears and looked for the source. A mounted figure had stridden into view on the ridge of the hillside overlooking the river. Surrounded by a bodyguard at least two dozen strong, their breastplates glinting in the noonday sun, Rina knew him even at a distance of two hundred yards.

Bishop Sasarai.

She snatched up the power of her rune and focused it on the bishop. But it was too late. Sasarai turned on the ridge, and she saw the faintest gleam of light from his hand. Then the earth howled beneath her. Screams filled her ears as she lost her feet, and she felt dirt press against her cheek and shoulder. Her head rang, and something pierced her foot and drew blood. She was on the ground, shaking her head and stumbling away from the impact site, where the ground was a crater of raw soil as if a giant had taken a tuft of grass out of the hill. That man… he had a True Rune! She gasped for air, forcing herself to her feet.

The tide had turned in a moment at the ford. All along the crossing, the ground was scarred and wounded by deep craters filling with water between jagged mounds of rock and dirt from which limbs and weapons stuck out at odd angles. The Grasslanders were in full retreat, and the Harmonians chased them across the ford, cutting them down like reeds in the blood-swilling waters. Rina's mind reeled as she watched the scene play out. She heard moans around her, even as arrows began to thwack against the ground just yards away. She tried to wrap her head around what had happened. After Bishop Sasarai's attack, she could see that hundreds must be missing, buried beneath earth and water in the muddy slosh of the Uluath River.

And the slaughter had just begun.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo found Nash with his back against a wagon, whistling as he whittled on a piece of bloodwood, wood shavings littering the grass around him. His legs were splayed out before him.

Hugo glowered at the man. "You were never serious about looking at her, were you?"

Nash lit up at seeing him. He raised his brow, smiling. "You injure me. Voyeurism is a filthy habit."

Hugo stared at him. His hands balled up into fists at his sides, he thought about strangling the man.

Nash's eyes returned to the raw bloodwood in his hands. "So?"

Hugo sighed, throwing his hands up. "So what?"

Nash gave him a sidelong glance. "Did you see her?"

His cheeks burned. "I wasn't looking."

"That's not what I asked."

"No."

Nash raised an eyebrow. "No what?"

"I didn't see her." Hugo shrugged, clearing his throat.

Nash nodded to himself. He looked up. "Well, keep working on it. I'm expecting a detailed report." He made a grasping motion. "I bet she has firm—"

Hugo's eyes widened. "Stop!"

"…and the cutest little…"

Hugo turned on his heel and pressed his hands against his ears. He had his own images to wrestle down, without Nash making things worse. Chris had a right to be upset with him. She respected him—trusted him—and he felt like he was abusing that trust. She would think him no better than a dog if she knew what filthy thoughts he tried to suppress.

He stalked away from Nash. In his mind, he weighed a thousand possible apologies against the twitching brow of Chris Lightfellow.

**-Serfein-**

Serfein adjusted the collar of her cloak, wiping sweat from her neck and letting a welcome breeze in against her shirt and breeches. She stood on a small rise overlooking a field of barrows. Each grave was a mound of stones between three and five feet across, sometimes capped by a single standing stone jutting out of the smaller rocks. All were unmarked, and erected in long rows stretching across the empty field. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, all overgrown with holly and sage.

She stopped beside a small barrow and adjusted the strap of her gun against her shoulder. The grave's stones had spilled out of position, crushing the wildflowers around the marker. She reached down, testing the weight of a single stone in her hand.

A crackling sound startled her. She shot up and scanned the horizon. A ringing sound filled her ears and began to build in intensity. Within moments, the noise reached a crescendo, and at once, fire erupted from behind a hill, shooting into the air like a pillar of flame from a Rune Cannon aimed at the sun. But there were no ships here, and certainly no Rune Cannons.

Serfein ran to the crest of the hill, and looked down upon a charred hole in the ground, thirty yards away. She hesitated. The grass had burnt clean around the pit, but the soil itself seemed to glow with an angry red glare, as if the sun had seared the skin of the world itself, which now showed a welt. As she made to approach, the ground began to shake.

Serfein looked around. She expected an earthquake, but this was something different. Animals began to charge into view. Wild boars thundering past, tusks flailing against anything and everything that came near. Rabbits hopped from hiding place to hiding place. Gazelles dashing about madly. A lion, snapping its teeth without direction and loping along the edge of the hill. The animals stampeded, as if driven by the pulse of the glowing pit from which the violent eruption had surged forth. A squirrel darted between Serfein's legs, and as she turned, a wild dog slammed against her leg, knocking her aside with a snarl. The dog rushed past her, paying her no heed.

She cocked her rifle and stared as the fields surrounding the hill filled with moving beasts. In the glowing pit from which the fire had been born, she could sense the influence of something sinister—a magic far older and more mature than she'd expected to find in the Forbidden Grounds. If she knew her history, it could be one thing only.

Slowly, Serfein began to feel the same thing that had roused the animals. A heartbeat, drowning out the sound of her own heart. Something was awakening, and the eruption she had seen was only the beginning. Clutching her cloak against her body, Serfein sprinted towards the Wind Seekers' encampment. Behind her, she felt the heartbeat build in intensity.

**-Chris-**

"I thought you said you were here to observe things," Chris said. She glanced back as she pushed through the bushes. Branches whipped her cheeks. She bit her lip and groaned.

"That's not all of it," Yumi said. The woman swayed past trees and bushes, strolling with natural grace through the forest. "We're very concerned that you must return with us at once."

"Not really," Yun said. The girl followed in Yumi's wake with a smile stuck on her face. Her eyes were closed, but her hands were grasping at branches and brushing against bark along her way. "Things will happen as they happen."

Yumi glowered at the girl. "Don't you have something more helpful to say?" In response, Yun's smile broadened.

Chris shook her head. "I do not believe you are my enemy, but—"

"We could've killed you while you were taking a swim," Yumi said. The most innocent smile spread on her face.

"—But," Chris said, "I am still alive. So, I grant you that." A branch stung her cheek. She grasped and cracked it, then tossed the broken branch aside. "Still, you expect me of all people to accept an invitation to Alma-Kinan?"

Lily nodded, brows knitted. "Yes, don't you know that Grasslanders don't like Zexeners at all? Of course you do. You're Grasslanders. Do you really expect her to come with you?" The woman followed in Chris' footsteps, seemingly oblivious to the trail that Chris blazed for her.

Yun hid her smile with a hand. "I already know that you'll come. You just haven't decided to yet."

Yumi glanced at the broken branch at Chris' feet. "The women of Alma-Kinan are more willing to embrace other cultures. We do not hate the people of Zexen, as the other clans do."

Chris looked at her through lidded eyes. "It is my experience that the men are more belligerent."

Yumi burst into laughter, tossing her hair. The laugh turned into a grin, and she shrugged. "We don't have that problem."

Chris raised an eyebrow at Yumi, but the woman did not respond.

"At any rate," Chris said, "I see no reason to accept your invitation. I have more important matters to attend to."

Yun tapped her lower lip. "Perhaps I should tell her."

Chris stepped over a rotted log at the edge of the forest. The circle of wagons was ordered like little footlockers less than fifty yards away. She stopped, and turned to look at Yun. "Tell me what?"

The girl was silent. Then she shook her head. "No, I'll tell her when it feels right."

Yumi looked at the girl and sighed. She turned to Chris. "We will remain, and you can come with us when the time is right. Is that acceptable?"

Chris looked at them in turn. "As long as you call me Helen."

**-Hugo-**

Hugo felt ill prepared to face Chris when he saw her walk into the circle of wagons. She had not seen him yet, so he hesitated before padding over to her. He drew a deep breath.

"Chris—"

Four sets of eyes turned to him. Before Chris could say anything, a Kinese woman flashed a grin at him and said, "So, you're the husband." Garbed in a fur-lined hunter's dress, the woman's hair fell in waves over her shoulders. Like all her kind, Hugo suspected she was older than she looked.

He felt sweat bead on the back of his neck. Was Huarn looking? He didn't look back. He bowed his head at the woman, and at the girl at her side, and touched his fingers to his forehead. "The Spirits sing of your presence." It had been a while since he'd met anyone from the reclusive forest tribe.

The woman and the girl both repeated the gesture, replying, "I am pleased that they have brought word of me." They smiled at each other, sharing a grin, then turned to Hugo. "I am Yumi," the woman said, "And this is Yun."

He drew a deep breath, the nodded. "I am Hugo."

"Yes, I know," Yun said. Again, she giggled.

Chris raised a brow. "Do you know each other?"

Lily was giving Yumi a strange look. "Yes, do tell."

A smile played on Yumi's lips. "We know Hugo better than he knows us, I think."

Hugo nodded. He glanced at Chris, trying to read the look on her face. But her features were blank; drawn. He couldn't figure out if she were upset or not. So he assumed that she was. He was about to speak when he heard a voice.

"There you are," Bylsma said. Silver rings glinted in her braids as her hair bobbed. She adjusted the long sleeves of her dress as she came up beside them. Her eyes turned to the Kinese women, and widened. "And you are…?"

The women introduced themselves. "We're here for the feast," Yumi added with a smile.

Bylsma looked at Chris. "I trust this won't be a problem?"

Chris sniffed and gestured at the green, where the final preparations for the feast were being made. "As you said, no one would miss the Feast of the Five Moons."

Bylsma smirked. "We can't risk too much." She turned to the newcomers. "What are you doing here?"

"We have business with Helen," Yumi said. The smile was gone from her lips. "That's all you need to know, Wind Seeker."

Bylsma's eyes narrowed, and she wrinkled her forehead. "Girl, don't forget that this is my caravan. My people to protect." Her eyes flashed, and she turned to Chris and Hugo. "You're responsible for them. Do you understand?" She raised her hand to display the crest of the Symmetry Rune.

Hugo snarled. "Enough. We'll dance to your tune, but if you use that rune again—"

"Rune?" Yumi said. Her eyes widened as she studied Bylsma's hand.

Yun gasped. "That's…"

Yumi grabbed Bylsma's wrist. Her eyes were dark. "What in the Spirits' name are you doing?"

"Is there a problem?" Huarn shouted. Metal insignia clinked against his armor as he walked, and his scabbard went tap-tap against his leg as he strode into view. He stood ten yards away, a small smile spreading on his lips as he took in the scene. All involved had frozen in place, eyes staring ahead at each other as if the Harmonian captain would go away if ignored. Hugo felt as though the slightest prick would burst the bubble.

Bylsma snatched her arm back, then turned to smile at the man. "A feast is a serious matter. Sometimes, temperaments run high."

Yumi tensed, but with a look at Chris, she too forced a smile.

"Good," Huarn said, "Because my men are getting hungry. And thirsty." He cradled his sword. "Quite thirsty."

Hugo sought Chris' eyes, and they shared a long look. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she said nothing. After a time, she turned her gaze away and strode past him. Sweat slicked Hugo's neck as he followed. It would be better to get it over with.

**-Huarn-**

Candles lit the long tables with dozens of flickering glows. Wax ran down the candlesticks and onto the starched white tablecloth. Huarn shifted in his seat and tapped his fingers against the surface. Chairs seemed taboo to these people.

Hugo and Helen sat at the head of the table, surrounded by what Huarn had been assured were friends and family. The newcomers, a woman and a girl, were introduced as relatives of the groom, though he could see no close resemblance. Then again, he had a first cousin whose nose would put a swine's snout to shame. He guzzled wine from his mug—the spices gave it an earthy quality, or perhaps it was the worn clay mug—and studied the woman closer. This one was no swine at all. The dress seemed modest, but he'd caught his men staring all the more at the woman's curves, and for good reason. Those full, moist lips; he could but imagine what good they could do for a man. He took another swig and slapped the mug down. What was it with Hugo and beautiful women?

"Helen," he said. The light went out of her eyes as she ended her conversation and stared at him. "Maybe you'd be interested to hear that hostilities between Holy Harmonia and the Grasslanders have been initiated."

She stared into her mug. "I had heard that your people initiated hostilities some time ago."

Huarn steepled his hands. "Not true. The Most Exalted Bishop Sasarai does not come with hostile intentions. We've come to pacify this potential hotbed of violence."

She furrowed her brow, then took a sip from the wine. "It did not seem violent before you arrived."

He chuckled. "Your knights have fought the Grasslanders on no less than twelve occasions during the last two years." Eleven, more precisely, but he hoped she'd rise to the bait.

Helen turned to smile at the Wind Seeker girl that set a plate filled with juicy boar meat and steamed vegetables covered in a dark sauce before her. She did not touch it, but looked at him. "You are still convinced that I am the one you are looking for."

He shrugged, leaning back to leave room for his own plate as another girl set it down. Hugo was caught in conversation with the Pendragon woman, but his eyes were wandering to them between smiles and nods. "As I said, my spies assure me so," Huarn said.

A small smile played on her lips. "You should look for new spies."

Those eyes. They had some hold over him. He smirked. "Perhaps." He reached down and stabbed a knife into the meat, treaded a piece on the blade, and munched on it. The meat was just as tender as it had looked, and the spices nearly burned his tongue. Could she be another woman entirely? For a moment only, he wished Serfein was there. Then he banished the thought. There was enough time to break the façade and find the truth. All he had to do was to trust in his own instinct. And his instincts told him just how to unmask the Captain of the Knights.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo finally managed to excuse himself from Lily's garrulous stories and turned to Chris. She balanced the knife in her hand like a sword, frowning at the untouched meat on her plate.

"Don't you like boar?" he asked.

She blinked, then raised a brow at him. "I see no fork."

"What's a fork?"

She gave him a cold look. "You cannot be serious."

He laughed. "We're barbarians, remember?" At least she was talking to him—maybe she wasn't so angry after all. Then again, women had a way of hiding the fire until you couldn't see the smoke anymore. He leaned in. "Let me show you. Besides, I see Bylsma giving me the eye and I think tradition says I'm supposed to cut the meat for you."

"I see no reason for that. I can cut it myself."

"How else would I prove my manliness?" He stabbed his own knife down and cut loose a triangle.

She gave him a look like he'd told her he had wings. "I beg your pardon?"

He grimaced, shrugging as he held up the meat to her. "I guess women used to be really impressed with a man who could cut his meat. Here, taste it."

She gave the knifed meat a dubious look. Glancing at him, she swallowed and leaned in sideways to nibble at the meat. "This is absurd," she mumbled, producing a handkerchief and dabbing it at her lips as she pulled away. "How will I eat it?"

He handed her the knife. "It's easier if you hold it yourself. I'll just use my hands," he said with a shrug.

She paused. "You are joking."

Hugo already had a slab of meat in his mouth. "Hm?"

"You are not joking." She fluttered her eyes and sighed.

He nudged her shoulder and lowered his voice. "Watch it that Huarn doesn't see right through you."

She shrugged, looking at the meat. "Chris or Helen, you married a Zexen. You shall have to live with it." She paused to frown down at her lap and adjust the breast of her shirt, groaning.

He chuckled, scratching at the Fire Rune on the back of his hand. It was itching like the bite of a dozen flies, all of a sudden. Damned second-rate dockside rune sage. He glanced at Chris. Since she'd returned from the forest she was dressed in Wind Seeker garments, and for some reason it made him notice things about her, like the dark freckles on her cheeks he'd never seen before. A series of moles on her neck. The way her hair tapered off beside her ears. She had longer fingernails than he'd imagined, too. He wondered how that worked with the gloves, and with a sword. Perhaps they'd grown since they left Vinay. How did she keep them so clean?

"Is something amiss?"

He looked up to find her staring at him, a look of concern on her face. He smirked. "No, nothing. I was just thinking about… things."

She nodded soberly. "Things. Yes. Things are complicated, these days." She took a timid bite out of the meat on her knife.

That was the truth of it. He looked down, sighing silently. In his mind, two images warred for his attention. Chris' naked shoulders above the waterline, and Lulu's dead eyes. The sleeveless shirt covered her shoulders now, impossibly smooth as they had seemed, but Lulu's eyes still hammered at him. In his mind, he could see himself through those unseeing eyes. And he hated what he saw. He wanted to apologize to Chris for what had happened earlier, but at the same time, under the admonishing gaze of Lulu, could he bring himself to give her that satisfaction? He stared into the still wine in his mug. He has sworn an oath. But each day, he found himself drifting further and further from what remained of his resolve. Could he forgive her? What would Lulu want him to do? Would he understand? Could Lulu forgive?

Something stirred the wine in his mug once, then twice. Something distant. Something getting closer.

**-Chris-**

Chris glanced at Hugo. He seemed an ocean away, all of a sudden. She sighed, taking a sip out of her wine. She looked at the nibbled meat on her knife, and put it down. The meat did not taste all that good, anyway. What was he thinking about? She was angry with him, but this was not the time to bring it up. And she was torn about it, too. Absolutely, there was the outrage, but at the same time, she could not help but feel that Hugo had in some ways suffered at her hand. This was a small thing—a significant thing—and she felt guilty thinking about admonishing him. There would be time to explain proper conduct to him. And then there was the flighty side of her mind which rejoiced when he laughed at her; that whispered about how his eyes were so bright and full of life when he was not scowling at her. She wanted that. After all, the more he smiled, the more she could hope that he would come to terms with their bloodstained past. Nothing else. There could be nothing more than that.

Tracing the ring of the mug, she looked over to where Huarn sat wolfing down another serving of meat. For once, the soldier's eyes were not fixed on her. She heaved a sigh of relief. Perhaps even the hawk would lose interest eventually.

"Helen?"

She half rose out of her seat as she turned to face the new voice.

"No, please sit," a young woman said with a smile. She pushed dark brown hair behind her ear as she squatted down beside Chris. "Do you mind?"

Chris plopped back down, then shook her head. "How can I help you?"

The girl laughed, casting her eyes down. "You've already helped me. Do you remember?"

Chris studied her features long and hard. "You are the girl who was being mistreated by the Zexen soldiers at Brass Castle."

The woman nodded. "That's right. It was a brave thing you did, helping me. I wanted to thank you."

Chris shifted in her seat. The woman's beaming smile was almost too intense in its adoration. "I merely did what I felt had to be done."

"I am recently married, too," she said.

Chris made to speak, but nodded instead, smiling. Didn't the girl know? No matter. So much the better if she played along.

"Congratulations," she said.

The woman bit her lip, glancing at a man perhaps a few years older than her, laughing and conversing with several other men at a table on the outskirts of the feast. The seat beside him was vacant. "Thank you," she said. She looked past Chris, at Hugo, and her eyes lit up. "It must be exciting."

Chris smiled apologetically. "I do not follow."

"Being married to a Karayan, I mean. They're so passionate." She giggled.

Chris spared a glance at Hugo, and then smiled dryly. "So I have noticed."

The girl flushed, tracing her finger against a tendril of molten wax on the tablecloth. "He must be a brute in bed."

Chris blinked. In bed? She shrugged, sharing a knowing smile with the girl. "He does not even use the bed, most of the time. He just roughs it out on the floor." Like a vagrant. She'd never understand that. Who doesn't want to sleep in a bed with proper linens and a soft mattress?

The woman's eyes widened as she gaped. She seemed taken aback. "Really?" she gasped. The candlelight revealed that her cheeks were blooming with color, but she seemed somewhat emboldened by the answer. "Isn't that… uncomfortable?"

"He does not seem to mind."

"But, for you?"

Chris raised her eyebrows. "It is no concern of mine. I am satisfied either way."

"I see," the woman said, nodding to herself. "That's remarkable. You two must be so in tune with each other." She sighed. "I fear I'm not settling into married life nearly as well."

Chris did not know what to say to that. She made to speak when Huarn suddenly rose from his seat, hoisting his mug with a big grin.

"A toast!" he said. "A toast, to the bride and groom!"

**-Hugo-**

Hugo was jolted out of his thoughts. Huarn's words had silenced the crowd, putting an end to the festive sounds Hugo had noted somewhere in the distance as he brooded. Lutes stopped strumming with a note of finality. Couples halted mid-step in their dance. The Wind Seekers had risen from the seats to watch Hugo and Chris. The Harmonian officers had their sleeves rolled up to partake of wine and boar's meat, but they sat straighter now, eyes darting about as if expecting a violent reaction. The common soldiers milled about the circle of wagons, like wolves circling a flock of sheep. Chris and Huarn were staring at each other, but where the captain's face was split by a tight-lipped grin, her features were tense with anticipation.

Hugo raised his mug and stood up. "To the bride and groom." He put a hand on Chris' shoulder. She looked up at him and flashed a small smile, but her eyes were filled with worry. Or perhaps it was the churning feeling in his own stomach he saw reflected on her face. He could almost imagine the ground quivering beneath his feet.

Huarn emptied the mug in one motion, and slammed it down on the table. He leaned forward on the palms of his hands. "I'd like to see a kiss."

Hugo felt a chill at the nape of his neck. Chris' eyes widened and she shot up. He felt his fingers close on her shoulder, and tried to relax the grip, smiling. Shouts of encouragement filled the air. The Wind Seekers were clapping their hands. He glanced at Chris before saying, "I don't want to make my wife uncomfortable."

Huarn tapped the hilt of his sword. "But I insist."

Sweat beaded on Hugo's forehead. He stole glances around, at the Wind Seekers in their ignorant cheer, and the soldiers—a ring of cold steel—that hemmed them in. A quick peck on the cheek might work. He looked at Chris, whose eyes seemed at once overlarge, like full moons hanging in the night sky. Her hair was pale against the night sky, seeming more like her natural silver than the dyed blonde. She'd never looked more vulnerable to him.

"No," he said. He took his hand off her shoulder. "I won't do it."

Huarn's eyes tightened, and his back stiffened. Several of the officers around him stood from their seats, but the captain remained silent.

Hugo felt a hand touch his back, and he turned to see Bylsma settle in against the table like a concerned mother. A smile was plastered onto her face, but the crinkles around her eyes betrayed her distress.

"Do this. Properly."

Hugo stared right back at her. "No."

Bylsma flourished the back of her hand. The Symmetry Rune seemed to glow like an angry sun, almost blinding to his eyes. Hugo gritted his teeth. His temples ached with a hot rage. "I told you never to use it again."

"You leave me no choice." The rune flashed. "Kiss her. Like a husband kisses his wife."

The balanced pattern of circles and lines etched itself into Hugo's vision and through into his mind. There was a feeling like rope coiling and tightening around his throat, and he could almost imagine that he could hear the creaking of the hemp. His body felt heavy as iron as he turned to Chris. He looked into her eyes, and she stared back. She seemed surprisingly calm.

"Hugo, I—"

He shook his head. "I know." Even turning his head to face Bylsma took all the strength of turning a waterwheel against the stream. "There's always a choice," he said. He activated the Fire Rune and gritted his teeth against the heat. "And I'd rather die."

Fire lanced through his arm like needles pricking the skin. He staggered down. Pain pulsed along his flesh, spreading to his fingers and shoulder. Still his body felt like iron, forcing him towards Chris. Bylsma's eyes had widened, but her mouth was tight. He blinked away tears and channeled more power into the rune. The jolt made him gasp. He clutched at his arm, but kept raising the heat. The spell gripping his mind wavered, but remained. He smelled burnt flesh; heard sizzling. He bit down on his lip until he drew blood, and sent more heat into his arm. It didn't seem to work. For a moment, he thought he would pass out, or burn his arm right off. Better that than to force himself upon her, like this. He'd rather die. He forced his lips to smile, fixing his wide eyes on Bylsma. Slowly he felt the spell waver, and with a sound like steel slicing stone, the image of the Symmetry Rune burned from his mind. Gasping for air, Hugo dropped to his knees, clutching his arm as the supernatural heat drained from the limb.

Leaving only the pain.

**-Yumi-**

Yumi found herself gaping at Hugo as he settled down onto the ground, thin tendrils of smoke rising from his charred arm like steam from a tempered blade. Everything had come to a stop. Cheers and claps had turned to gasps and cries and then to silence, and now there was no sound at all, except for the chirping of crickets in the Grasslands night.

Steel slid against wood as Huarn drew his sword. He leveled it at Chris and shouted, "Seize them!" It was as if the Spirits had all been turned loose at once. The green erupted with activity; tables slammed against the ground, and porcelain and clay crashed as Wind Seekers scrambled for cover. Pots and pans clattered as soldiers kicked their way through the commotion, and men and women screamed as they were pushed aside or hemmed in by Harmonian hands.

The ground shook. Yumi turned in time to see a wild boar thunder through the gap between two wagons. Then a second one followed, and another. Wild dogs and horses stampeded into the circle of wagons like saraak warriors assaulting a wagon fort. She saw a man go down, trampled by a horse's hooves, and another was throw aside like a rag doll by the tusks of a boar. Wagons rattled and shook, and rabbits and squirrels shot beneath the vehicles, crowding the green within like ants fleeing an anthill. A lion roared somewhere.

Yumi grabbed Yun's sleeve and pulled her along. "Don't tell me you saw this coming." Yun's eyes were wide and her mouth hung open. Numbly she shook her head.

A soldier stumbled back after being pushed by a boar. Face to face with the rabid animal he retreated until he bumped into a table. Yumi leaned in and elbowed the man in the face. He grunted and splayed out b ck-first over the table. She climbed the table, hoisted Yun up, then grabbed the man's crossbow and fired a bolt at the boar. The animal squealed like a dozen pigs and went into a frenzy, knocking over another table. She looked around.

"I don't see Chris anymore."

Yun nodded and closed her eyes. Her body quivered as she spoke, "It's alright. Things won't turn out good if we go after her now. We should wait."

Yumi ran a hand across the girl's cheek. She hoped her touch would prove reassuring. "What for?"

Yun bit her lip. Her eyes popped open. "I can't see things so clearly just now…"

It was all Yumi could do not to laugh. Boars tore ruts in the ground as they smashed poles and tables and roughed up tents and ropes. Candles lit the dry grasses, and fire was spreading through the green. Can't see things clearly? That's about right. She loaded another quarrel into the crossbow, trying to still the shaking of her hand.

"It's alright, Yun. It's alright."

Just then, the wind began to howl.

**-Chris-**

Something shoved Chris onto the dry grass. When she got up, she was separated from the others. Beasts came tearing through the feast tables, cracking wood and breaking plates. A tablecloth caught on a boar's tusks as it thundered through, and the beast leapt and bucked, trying to shake it. Chris used the diversion to sneak around the edge of a table. She looked around for Hugo, but couldn't catch a glimpse of him in the chaos.

One of Huarn's lieutenants was on the ground, unseeing eyes staring up at the sky. His chest was collapsed by the beat of unshod hooves. She scurried over and snatched up the man's sword, then hurried past him into the shadow of a wagon. Smoke was rising from the green in half a dozen places where the fire had spread to the stamped-out grass. Two soldiers ran past, but did not see her. She wrung the hilt in her hand, staring through the smoke to make out Hugo's form. Where did he go?

There came a roar from the gap between two wagons. She turned in time to see the two soldiers facing down a lion. One man screamed as the beast clawed him across his chest. He stumbled back, and the other man jabbed his spear at the lion. The beast leapt forward. The spear's tip buried itself in it shoulder, but it bowled through to knock the man flat on his back. The lion roared again and bit at his shoulder. The man screamed as he struggled, trying to keep the beast from biting his throat. The other man was on his feet, but he danced around the pair embroiled in a battle on the ground, looking much too indecisive.

Chris shot to her feet, asking forgiveness of the Goddess. She sprinted ahead and darted in just in time to bury her sword in the lion's eye. The beast howled and shook its head, knocking Chris aside. She leapt to her feet and slashed. The lion gave one last roar, and blood squirted from its throat as it stumbled onto its belly and went quiet.

The standing soldier helped his comrade onto his feet and the two fanned out to point their spears at her. She sighed, backing up against the wall of a wagon and looking around.

Huarn stepped in behind the men. He smiled, looking down his nose at her. "So, you _can_ use a sword."

"If you have any honor, Captain Huarn, let me go."

The man laughed. He shrugged, lifting his sword in the motion. "After all the trouble I went through? I couldn't deny myself the satisfaction."

Another figure burst in between the wagons. The soldiers shifted position.

"Captain Huarn," Serfein said, dropping her cowl to show an intense look. Her breast heaved with each loud breath. Her cheeks and forehead were slick with sweat. "Something strange is about."

Huarn gestured at the chaotic mess of burning tables. "I noticed."

Serfein shook her head. "There's a True Rune nearby. In the Forbidden Ground."

Huarn's eyes widened. He glanced at Chris and then back to Serfein. "Are you sure?"

"Do I ever joke?"

Huarn cursed. He sheathed his sword and motioned for another group of soldiers to rush in and surround Chris. "We're leaving at once," he said to Serfein. "We'll have to take her with us." He turned to look at Chris.

"Will you come peacefully, or do I have to have you knocked unconscious?" He frowned at her. "It's no fuss for me."

Chris glanced at the soldiers who'd fanned out around her. Each man held a spear jabbed at her, and they were mere feet away. Their reach was greater, and no man looked obviously inexperienced. There was the gap between the wagon's wheels, but she'd spotted boots on the other side as well. Against half a dozen soldiers, there was nothing she could do but go out in a blaze of glory. And as long as she did not know where Hugo was, she could not throw her life away. She had a responsibility to look after him.

She tossed the sword to the ground. "I will come peacefully."

Huarn nodded. A smile spread on his face.

There was a rush of air, and a wall of gusting winds was born in the middle of the green. It was a wall in truth, separating Huarn and his soldiers—and Chris, unfortunately—from the other side of the circle of wagons. Serfein wrinkled her nose.

"How did the Pagans get a hold of a Cyclone Rune?"

Huarn shrugged. "Rune sages have no pride anymore. Any oaf can buy a rune, these days."

**-Borus-**

Borus' horse reared and kicked at the beasts surrounding it. He leaned low and slashed at a boar. There was a loud squeal, and blood splashed his greaves and colored the steel in the light of the moon. Screams filled the night, but there were too many to make sense of. The circle of wagons was lit from inside by some uncontrolled fire, and smoke rose not just from the green inside but also from some of the wagons on the opposite end. Debris floated in the air above the wagons, caught on a wind too strong to be natural.

Borus cursed the barbarians. This was where he would find Lady Chris? What were they doing to her? His blood boiled as his mind raced through the possibilities. Snarling, he spurred his horse on, lashing out with his sword against the beasts.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo's knife bit deep into the wild dog's shoulder. Blood pooled from the wound, and the dog yelped. A second stab opened its throat and the beast collapsed. Hugo breathed raggedly and looked around, clutching his aching arm.

"Where's Chris?" he said. He swiveled and turned about. She was nowhere to be found. A dozen growing fires lit the insides of the wagon circle, but a wall of wind cordoned off the area, separating him from the center of the green. The wind at once fanned and hemmed in the fires, which unless checked would spread into wildfire and burn clear large stretches of plainsland before coming to halt at the banks of rivers and at the feet of rocky outcroppings. Leafs and branches, bits of loose turf and pieces of broken clay surged upward on the wind, which he recognized as the work of a Wind Rune—but it was more powerful than he'd experienced before.

"Chris?" he had to shout to be heard above the wind. Someone howled in pain, and he turned to see a group of Harmonian soldiers vanish between two wagons. He heard shouts, and thought he heard Chris' name mentioned in the bedlam. They might have her cornered. Cursing, he started towards the gap. He leapt across a fire, feeling its heat wash against his legs. He had to find a way around—or if necessary, through—the wall of wind.

Something gripped his waist. He felt a rush of cool air, and stopped right in the step. A gale buffeted his clothes and flapped his sleeves and the lapel of his shirt. He struggled against the grip, but could not budge.

"Hold it right there," a voice said.

Hugo turned his head and glared at Bylsma. "You keep constricting me." He jostled and jerked, but did not move an inch.

Bylsma's forehead glowed with the emerald crest of an elaborate Wind Rune. Others were with her; Wind Seekers who had been pulled together for long enough to salvage their belongings from the fire and the chaos and begin to withdraw in earnest. A group of bare-chested men were pushing a wagon out from the circle. Bylsma's lips were pushed tight together as she shook her head at Hugo. "Your mother would skin me alive if I let you run off on some fool's errand."

"Let me go."

Bylsma sighed. "You'd only do something foolish if I did."

He wanted to run, to leave this place. He wanted to find Chris. But no matter how hard he struggled, these were no mere rope bonds to slip or break. This was a fist of air clutching his body like a hilt in a desperate hand. It was the weight of a mountain in the shape of the clouds. He was stuck.

All he could do was grit his teeth.

Bylsma walked up to him. It seemed that the Harmonians had been cut off from the caravan by the wall of air, just as Hugo was held by her spell. Despite the howl of the wind and the crackling of flames, a strange calm had settled over the green.

Hugo's cheek stung from Bylsma's slap.

"How dare you?" she said.

He glared at her. "Enough. You brought this upon yourself."

Her eyes flashed, and she clenched her fists. "A simple little thing like a kiss, and you go and burn your arm half to cinders? Are you mad?" She diverted tendrils of the rune's power to his arm, and the cool breeze soothed his skin like a salve. "I've got half a mind to leave your wounds without healing, to teach you a lesson."

He shrugged. "I told you not to use the rune. You had no right."

She fixed her eyes on him. Her mouth tightened, and she looked as if she were about to say something, but instead she just shook her head and muttered, "Spirits…who could have thought to do such a thing…" In his mind, he could tell that the spell of the Symmetry Rune had been shattered into nothingness, and the same had to be true for Chris now.

Hooves pounded against the turf. A horse neighed, and the rider cursed. "You!" Borus charged across the green so that Hugo thought he and Bylsma would be run over. Ten paces from the two, Borus leapt from the horse and drew his sword in one motion. He was fire and lightning, his eyes flashing with dark rage. Blood colored his greaves, and his hair was wild and unkempt.

"Release me," Hugo said to Bylsma. His body alighted on the ground as the grip loosened and disappeared. No longer propped up, his body ached with weariness. Despite Bylsma's healing, his arm felt as though it burned from within.

"You're responsible for this," Borus said. The knight's sword was sheathed in blood.

Hugo flexed his wrists and cracked his neck. "What are you talking about?"

Borus thrust his sword against Hugo's throat and backed him up. His breath stank of cheap rum, but he seemed sober enough now, with murder on his mind. "Where is she?"

Hugo met the knight's gaze. "The Harmonians have her. I'm going after her."

"You lie," Borus said. He slammed his knee into Hugo's groin. Hugo groaned and stumbled back, then bounded back up and held his dagger out with a snarl.

"Spirits curse you. What's wrong with you? We're on the same side."

"Don't make me laugh," he said. There was nothing but grating rage in his voice, and he forced the words out past white lips pressed hard together. "We will never be on the same side, you son of a barbarian whore. Where is Lady Chris? If you've hurt her…"

"That's enough, you Ironhead coward." Hugo's arm clenched up with pain as he activated the Fire Rune. He raced towards Borus, summoning a vortex of flame.

Borus took a step back and held his gauntleted fist up. Through the metal plating, Hugo saw an angry red glare. A wall of flame rose between them. Hugo's fire dissipated, and the flames caught on his sleeves. He threw himself down, rolling and quashing the fire before it spread. Getting onto his feet, he found Borus voicing a harsh laugh.

"Fire? So you make me laugh after all." His hand still glowed with the light of the crest beneath the gauntlet. "This Rage Rune was given to me by the knight who taught me to fence. It's more than enough to deny anything a mud-dweller like you could ever hope to conjure up."

Hugo snarled. He raised his dagger and charged. Darting in, he slashed. Steel clanged and Borus deflected his blow. The knight's sword flashed, and Hugo felt something crack against his skull. The hilt withdrew and Borus swung around. The flat of his blade hit Hugo on the head, knocking him back. As he rose back up, Borus planted his foot in his stomach and threw him onto the ground. Before Hugo could rise, the knight was there, pressing his boot against his neck. Hugo struggled to draw breath.

"You're nothing but filthy savages," the knight said, "Nesting and breeding in the ditches. You stand in the way of all reason, emerging from your caves only to snipe at civilized people. Poor Sir Roland's head no doubt adorns some bloody pike outside one of your mud huts!"

"My people," Hugo began. He coughed and spat, then forced out the sentence, "My people don't desecrate the dead."

Borus gave a single note of laughter. "Indeed! Then why didn't we find a body?" He did not wait for an answer. "Goddess, you're worse than rats. One day we'll root the lot of you out."

Hugo grabbed the knight's boot and twisted. With a yelp, Borus kicked his other foot against Hugo's head. Everything blurred for a moment, and his head ached from the blow when his vision returned. Borus shoved his face sideways, shunting his cheek against the turf and putting a foot on his other cheek.

"Move a limb, and I'll cut it off."

Hugo tried to resist, but he found that his arms were so tired that he could not even lift them off the ground. He could not move a limb even if he wanted to.

"Where is Lady Chris?"

A crossbow bolt bit the dirt beside Borus' foot. The knight stirred and looked around.

"Calm down, Sir Knight," said Yumi. She reloaded the crossbow and pointed it in Borus' direction. "If you want to find Lady Chris, you'd better listen to Hugo."

Borus glared at the woman. He looked around, and Hugo could see that the knight was now surrounded by dozens of Wind Seekers. He did not seem deterred.

"I'll cut my way out of here if necessary."

Caesar pushed out of the crowd. Hands in his pockets, he strolled up to the two of them. "Gee, I believe you. But really, think about it. The Harmonians have Lady Chris, you know? How about you two strike a truce, and you can both help get her back?"

"Help?" Borus nearly spat the word out.

Yumi's bosom heaved as she shrugged. "It's up to you. I can shoot you right now, and you can cut your way out of here with a bolt buried in your stomach, if you're able. Or you die, because I'm not going to let you hurt Hugo anymore. Or, you can wash the blood from your sword and sheathe it, and we can start to talk about how to rescue Lady Chris."

Borus weighed down on Hugo's face, glaring about at the people watching him.

"Well," Yumi said, "What are you waiting for?"

Hugo felt the boot lift off his face. As he stretched out onto his knees and spat blood, Lily came running over and held his shoulders. Brows knitted, the woman dabbed at the wound on his forehead. He winced as the touch jolted his nerves.

Borus sheathed his sword. He looked down at Hugo.

"This had better not be a ruse."

**-?-**

Nesting in the earth, the Vessel seethed. After decades of slumber, a handful of visions served as memory. Fire, Water, Lightning… Scenes of chaos pulsed and shifted in its mind. But now, when it was so close to the surface, something new, something raw, like rain-damp dirt, reached its consciousness and intruded on its obsessions. A scent of fire. A higher order rune had been used. And it was close.

The Vessel pulsed with anticipation. It was close to the surface, and when it erupted from the soil, it would make its desires into truth.

It would have its revenge.

**-Chris-**

Chris kept her eyes on the road as the Harmonian unit traveled towards the Forbidden Ground. Still she kept stumbling on protruding rocks and jagged depressions. A dozen soldiers surrounded her, escorting her further away from the Wind Seeker encampment. The Harmonians looked as haggard as she felt. Many were missing articles of clothing and armor, and insignia and helmets sat astray on most. Some showed obvious signs of battle, and there were gaps in formation that she suspected would not be filled until the soldiers had a chance to regroup during a proper night's rest. It was a battered and bruised squadron which followed Captain Huarn.

"I wonder," Huarn said, "Do you expect the boy to come for you?"

Chris's heart skipped a beat. She glanced up at the man, but said nothing. Hugo would be safe with the Wind Seekers. The Harmonians had gotten what they came for—her—and they were satisfied. The chaos that had erupted during the feast would be enough blood for now. Bylsma and her people would heal him and nurse him back to health, and he would be fine. His words echoed in her mind. _I'd rather die._ The vehemence in those words had been all too clear. There was no doubt that it had been his true feelings, stronger than she'd seen in him before. He had saved her pride and dignity—spared her the need to act—but for what reason? She had thought he viewed her as a friend, now, but… after all, she had killed his best friend. There was no denying that; no possible redemption or forgiveness. He had made that much clear.

She blinked away tears, and straightened her back. It was to be expected. She would carry on. She would do what had to be done, with or without him. But something felt hollow inside her heart.

(--)

**Author's Notes:**

I'm referring to the Alma-Kinan women as Kinese, to make the adjective less unwieldy.

If you have the time, I'd be grateful for any and all feedback you could give me. Were any parts boring or longwinded? Did anything seem useless or unnecessary to you? Did some characters act strangely? Did something not make sense? Let me know, and you can help me improve my writing!

**Next Chapter:**

The tide of battle has turned, and Bishop Sasarai drives the Grasslanders before him, marching on Chisha. The 282nd West Company seeks a True Rune, but will find something else entirely—something born of a True Rune. Something deadly. Will Hugo and Borus be able to put their differences aside, if only for a moment, to help Chris overcome the Harmonians? Will even their combined efforts be enough to overcome a new threat that could destroy them all? Find out next time, in Blazing Waves, Burning Rain!


	18. A Power Like the Sun

"Sealed in the Forbidden Ground, we lay to rest our deepest shame and our brightest hope. That our children may know peace, we entomb the weapons of our enemies and our own in the soil, so that something bright may grow out of something dark."

**Chapter XVIII: A Power Like the Sun**

* * *

**-Hugo-**

An unnatural wind still whistled across the plains, refusing to die though the magic that had sown the whirlwind had long since petered out. The grass rippled beneath its caress, and the hem of Hugo's shirt flapped against his waist. The smell of ashes wafted past his nose from time to time as the remains of the dying embers were swept away.

Borus walked towards his horse. The charger stood like a statue carved from marble—polished but freckled with blood. The interlocking steel plates of the knight's armor glinted in the light of the full moon.

Hugo stood a few yards away. He bored his eyes into the Borus' back, imagining blades slipping past the armor and plunging into the knight's flesh. His fingers itched on his dagger's handle. Could he let him walk away?

A hand alighted on Hugo's arm. He glanced to see Yumi frowning at him.

"Don't," she said.

For a moment he saw Chris' face superimposed over Yumi's—that same frown, striking down his resolve. The vision faded, and he shrugged her away. Sighing, he tore his fingers from the hilt and placed both hands on his hips.

"Borus."

The knight had grasped the reins, and now turned to cock his head at Hugo as he checked the leather straps.

"I hate to say it," Hugo began. He shook his head, "Spirits, I hate even thinking about it, but you and I will do better together."

Borus furrowed his brows, and his face twisted with ill-hidden distaste. He looked away, and when he spoke, every word sounded forced. "I agreed to a truce. But you and I, we will _never_ work together."

"Damn it, Borus. We can save her. Together."

When Borus turned to face him again, his face was impassive. "You'll slow me down," he said. He put a foot in the stirrup. "Do you even know how to ride?" The knight did not wait for an answer, but instead swung himself up and astride the horse.

Hugo cursed the Ironhead under his breath. "You're not in Zexen now," he said. "You'll need me."

Borus trotted over near Hugo. Iron went snick-snack against wood as his sword leapt into his hand. He flourished the weapon and snapped it still, blade vertical, between his eyes.

"I need naught but my sword. Witness, barbarian, the resolve of a Knight of Zexen!" He waited for a heartbeat, then shouted a "hiyaaah!" and spurred his charger into motion. Iron-shod hoofs clomped as he galloped away, sword trailing to cut through the wind.

Hugo followed with his eyes until the white horse was swallowed by the night and the clatter of horse's hoofs was drowned by the wind. He turned to Yumi.

The woman looked like she was about to sag into the earth. "Don't go after the Harmonians alone."

"I hope the fool trips on a sword. I don't need him." Hugo started down towards the cluster of singed wagons where the Wind Seekers huddled together, gathering their belongings and licking their wounds. Bylsma stood among them, attentive to her people but casting glances Hugo's way every few seconds.

Yumi jogged to keep up with him. She straightened her back and fell in step. "You're just as likely to get yourself killed as you are to save her. It's better to wait. Yun says they won't kill her. Not yet, anyway. There's time to—"

"No." He couldn't trust a girl's visions when Chris was in danger. What if she were wrong?

Yumi let slip a groan. "Hugo, you're a fool." She slipped in front of him, faced him down with arms crossed. It almost seemed that she had to hike up her bosom to fit her arms around her stomach. "What are you going to do when you find her? Kill every Harmonian soldier?"

Hugo halted, regarded her. When he looked at her he saw the forms of Chris. Her eyes digging into his. He tried to imagine what she would look like, what she'd say. Would she try to dissuade him, were she in the same position? He did not know, but decided it didn't matter.

"I've started down this path," he said. He reached out, laid his hands as weights on Yumi's shoulders, and then gently but firmly pushed her aside. She gave a start, but did not resist. "Spirits damn me," he added, "I mean to see it through."

Yumi followed in his wake, muttering some half-heard, unflattering words of comment upon Hugo and men in general. A few steps ahead, she sighed and caught up with him at a jog.

"It's not too late. We could follow him. We may be able to keep up."

Hugo turned his head to face her. A deep frown creased her forehead, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. He smirked, and turned to regard the wagons. Among the painted walls, half a dozen remaining horses still grazed.

"No," he said. "He'll slow us down."

**-The Vessel-**

The earth shook around him, shaking loose soil that clumped against his head and shoulders. The clatter and clack of disturbed stones was his first sensation. He awoke gasping for air, spitting and choking on chunks of muddy clay. It was dark. Too tight. He clawed at the earth, kicking and shoving and using limbs he didn't remember having. The walls of his prison gave way, but not quick enough. Raining dirt tracked his wedge-shaped head. He strained to stretch out all his limbs, but there was no room. Something on his back flexed but was frustrated by the cramped space. He opened his maws and snarled in frustration. The sound came out unfamiliar. He tasted sulfur in his mouth. And then he breathed fire.

A flash of heat burgeoned, and the air turned to hissing steam. Fire leapt in cascades from his throat, hammered against the earth like a fist, and burst through. There was a gasp as air was sucked into the confined space, and the fire lit up in a torch aboveground.

Cinders skirled down, flaking against his scales. The heat hadn't touched him. All he felt was a tingling sensation dotting his limbs. He clawed at the lip of the pit, jostled and crushed himself against the walls, and climbed out.

He collapsed with a thud and wheezed for air; shook his head violently. He looked out over a landscape of knee-high grasses, dotted with small bloodwood and holly. Fire bloomed around him. His escape had ignited the dry grasses, and riven trails of burgeoning wildfire spread around him. Images flashed through his mind. The same landscape, in a different time. A world enveloped in flame. His last stand. The memory was raw and immediate, and begged to be played out again.

But this was now. The lurid glare of fire illuminated rows of cairns, flames sweeping around them. Smoke curled towards the night sky above the solemn graves. Stones piled upon stones to mark the passing of warriors felled in battle. In this case, felled by a rune. There were so many of them.

The Vessel stretched out to a height of fifteen feet, threw back his wings with a rush of air, and bent his head down. Scarlet scales glimmered in firelight, sheathing his body and limbs. He stood on thick rear legs the size of a man and about as powerful. He turned his forearms over to look at the vicious claws tapering to points at the end of the hands. A horse could lose its head to these. He twisted, and looked over his shoulder to see leathery wings with a span of ten feet to either side shoot out from his back.

He landed on his forearms with a thud. This was not the body he remembered. But his scales were branded with a patchwork of Fire and Rage Runes, all faintly glowing with the residue of magical power he'd expelled in his breath. That much was the same.

But no, there was a final memory of light and fire and death and chaos. An image etched into his mind. There had been a change; a burst of potential unleashed in a sea of flame, washing over everything, licking the ground clean. Leaving it ripe for regrowth. Just as the wildfire now burned out of control.

Yes, there had been a change. And he could revert it. He focused, drawing on the magic reserves of his core—bypassing the Fire and Rage Runes, he searched for the swirl of untapped potential at his center. That which was fashioned by another, but was his to tap, to control.

He shrank towards the ground. Scales healed over like scabs giving way to new flesh. Claws retracted like nails sinking back into the fingers. The wedge-shaped head grew angular, smoothed, became soft and delicate. Hair sprouted from his pate, coming to his neck. He sunk to the height of a man, and the transformation came to a close.

He staggered, lurched forward onto hands and knees, and gasped for air. He leaned back, knotted hands through his hair, and caught his breath. He blinked, spitting phlegm.

He settled back on his haunches and noticed that his hand was shivering like a leaf on the wind. What body was now his true form? He could not say. The change was temporary, but it suited him. He got to his feet, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander in search of _power_.

He swept outward, imagined hands feeling at the contours of the landscape, groping for hills and valleys. Then he swept upward, sailed on the wind.

The True Lightning Rune was near. He could feel it, its hated wielder hesitating on the fringe of the theater. He marked the distance, the direction, then swept on. That was for later.

He could not find the True Water Rune. It was dormant, but more than that… it was sealed. Somewhere out of reach. No matter. It was not his concern.

He froze. The True Wind Rune… and the True Earth Rune. They were so close that his first sweep had overlooked them. And both runes were near to each other. What did this mean? The runes ought to remain in Harmonia, as last he knew them to. Had they too been stolen? He could sense nothing about their wielders. Something blocked his attempts of scrutiny. He noted their location, but let it pass.

His blood began to pump as he expanded his search grid. The True Fire Rune. It lay dormant: that much was clear. But unlike the True Water Rune, no seal would keep him from this rune. The void within him howled its need. It _would_ be his.

There. His breath hitched. He'd found it. It was buried, hidden away from the world. Sealed with powerful wards. None of which would even cause his step to falter. He turned to face east, towards the location of the True Fire Rune.

But first he needed an army. There was power in the ground here; violence and death, strong enough to be useful. His body lit up like a torch as the Rage Runes were activated in a sweep from head to toe. He threw his arms up, summoning a fire of the soul to stir the restless spirits of the earth.

The cairns quivered. Stones began to fall, then toppled and rolled away to clatter and click against each other on the bare, burnt ground. Skeletal hands clawed through the soil, digging open pits. The figures that emerged from the graves were still wearing the armor they'd been slain in; still clutching weapons dulled by battle. But their skin had been peeled away by the ravages of time; their flesh stripped by hungry insects in the earth.

They shuffled towards him, flickering flames lighting their empty eye-sockets. They stood around him. An army of dead warriors, its ranks swelling with each moment.

The Vessel released the magic, bound it to last until his purpose was fulfilled. He paused for a moment, searching the earth below. There was something else buried, deeper in the ground. Something that had persisted for longer than he within a subterranean prison. But this presence was biding its time.

Unlike the Vessel, it was not yet ready to be released.

**-Hugo-**

"Absolutely not," Bylsma said.

The woman had planted fists on her hips, and now regarded Hugo with hawkish defiance. The Wind Seekers had circled their wagons around a patch of damp grasses surrounded by swaths of singed earth. Bylsma had tied a colorful bandana round her forehead, hiding the rune that before had glowed like an emerald. She stood at the head of a group of Wind Seekers collecting reins and pulling the horses back towards the wagons. The remaining survivors huddled inside, or crawled over the drivers' seats.

"One horse is all I need," Hugo said.

"Two," Yumi said. Bylsma's eyes swung to her. "We'll need two," she pressed. She pursed her lips at Hugo and added, "Don't even say it."

Come or don't; it didn't matter to Hugo. She could follow in his wake. He shrugged.

Lilly ducked out of a wagon, scrambled to the ground and jogged towards them, clasping her sheathed rapier in place lest she stumble over the scabbard. She looked around, took in the stern faces.

"Are we leaving?"

Bylsma shook her head. "There will be no horses. It will be some time before you make your own decisions again, son of Lucia." She raised a gnarled finger at Hugo. "Survival must be our first priority. And you owe it to us to help protect the caravan, not run off to play the hero!" She gestured wildly as if to punctuate her words.

"How dare you!" Yumi started towards the woman before stopping herself. Her eyes had widened and were straining to hold back emotion. "The son of Lucia owes you _nothing_, witch."

Bylsma's mouth twitched, but she ignored the Kinese woman. Instead she marched up right near Hugo's chest, cocked her head up, and fixed him with a steely look.

"You would leave us unguarded. You would ride to rescue this woman."

Hugo clenched his jaw. "I will crawl on my hands and knees if necessary."

Bylsma slowly shook her head, her mouth twisting as if she tasted something sour. "I see it in your eyes. Why would you betray your own people for this woman? You hardly even know her."

Hugo gave a curt laugh, then shook his head in disgust. "I know what you are. You've been trying to teach us a harsh lesson about prejudice. But you're no better. You serve no one but yourself, and you've taught me nothing." He sneered. "It's true I don't know Chris well yet. But she's already taught me much more than you have."

Lilly gasped. "Hugo!"

Bylsma's face had turned the color of ashes on the wind. Her face twisted and contorted in rage. When she spoke, her words were filled with venom.

"Then you shall walk. Or, indeed, crawl on your hands and knees, as you so desire."

Hugo shoved her aside. "I'm taking a horse." He stalked past her, then past the first two horses to the dun mare he'd picked out days past. Without a doubt she was the finest of the bunch. The Wind Seekers stared at him, some with anger in their eyes, but none made a move to stop him—not even the flaxen-haired boy holding the reins to the mare. The lad simply handed him the leather and stepped back.

Hugo didn't meet their eyes. He had a feeling his mother would have his hide for this one day, but he would face that thunderstorm when the clouds came. He gained the saddle in one swift leap, and calmed the mare with a pat on the neck.

Yumi, saying nothing, had chosen a horse for herself, and now tested out the reins and stirrup, adjusted the saddle. Yun had joined her, and now watched Hugo as if his next act was the key to some great revelation.

As Hugo trotted past her, Lilly's eyes darted from Hugo to Yumi, to Yun, counting silently. Her eyes widened. "This is preposterous! I'll have to ride with you."

"Get your own horse."

Lilly shook her head so hard she had to hold onto her feathered hat. "No, that won't do. I'm an ambassador of the Great Republic of Tinto. That would be a terrible diplomatic faux pas."

Hugo met her words with a long look, and silence.

Lilly sighed, and wilted beneath her hat. "Fine." She traipsed up to the horse and flapped a hand at him. "I ought to be the one to handle the reins."

Hugo almost laughed. "No."

Lilly cocked her head and glared at him. She stood blade-straight, legs together and hands on her hips. "You're not much of a gentleman, you know."

"I still don't know what that word means." He shrugged. "Make up your mind."

Lilly groaned and moaned, twisted her mouth and walked with a sullen clip to her steps. Her breeches stretched as she straddled the saddle behind him. She clasped her hands around his waist, pushed up against his back. Her eyes shot lightning. "You'd best not take any liberties with me. I'm a lady, you know."

He glanced back at her, and saw a petulant look on her face. He wouldn't dream of it.

**-Caesar-**

Caesar waited for Hugo at the edge of the camp. He pulled up his coat against the wind, and adjusted the high collar to shelter his neck.

"You're leaving."

Hugo nodded. Behind him, Lilly had fixed a sullen look on his neck.

Caesar smirked. The girl was easy enough on the eyes, but… he did not envy Hugo his new companion, even though the girl's pert breasts pressed up against his back most gloriously. Funny; he seemed oblivious to that, too. Caesar wondered what went through the man's head. Was it true that the so-called 'barbarians' had a one-track mind? But no, Hugo was no fool. And Lilly wasn't as scatter-brained as she seemed. She sure had an eye for Hugo. Would she follow through on that? He wondered.

"Apple and I aren't much in the way of fighters," Caesar said.

"Don't worry about it," Hugo said. He guided his horse around Caesar. "I've got to catch up to the Ironhead before he gets Chris into trouble."

"Hugo," Caesar called after him. He waited for their heads to turn. "Be careful. The Harmonians have been playing at war for centuries. They're not knights, but professional soldiers. You'll know the difference soon enough. Not a lot will surprise these people." He glanced at the reddish glare building on the horizon to the north. "Though today may be a first." He wiped away his smile. "Don't underestimate the Harmonians."

Hugo nodded. "I won't."

"And another thing," Caesar said, strolling towards them, ducking his head and scratching his hair. "I don't know much about this Huarn fellow and his advance guard of ruffians. They're frontrunners and they'll be cut loose to make their own decisions, fast and easy. But I know for a fact that the main Harmonian army has a damn good strategist."

Hugo straightened in his saddle. "I don't intend to fight the Harmonian army."

Caesar laughed. "No one ever does."

He watched them canter away into the night. The two Kinese women followed in their wake. The older was a sight to behold. That dainty hair. The curves. He felt dirty just looking at those breasts, wondering what they'd— No. He abandoned that train of thought. He grinned at her as she passed, and felt color rush to his cheeks. There was a gleam in those eyes that made his breath shorter.

The little girl was another matter. How old was she? Ten, twelve? She seemed older. It was the eyes; the eyes that gave him the creeps. The girl betrayed no hint of reaction or emotion, but those piercing eyes seemed like they could look right into his soul. He shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold.

When they were gone, Caesar let out a sigh and stuck his hands in his pockets. He felt a twinge of guilt at letting them go off on their own, but what could he do? Nothing, that was what. Besides, he had his own problems to consider. Things were drawing taut, like a rope strung up real tight. He sighed, and looked around.

Now where did that fascinating ex-gunner go?

**-Chris-**

Chris stumbled forward, face brushing against the canvas on the way into the tent. She glanced back but saw no sign of the soldier who had pushed her inside.

Huarn was hunched over a map rolled out across the top of a trestle table—the only furniture in the hastily erected tent—squinting as he read the map by the lantern's light. Upon seeing her, he froze up, and a predatory smile spread on his lips.

She had to be impressed with the efficiency of the Harmonian soldiers. Within moments of making camp, the commander's tent had been pitched at right angles within the imagined compound. It was a thing to behold. She approached the table, chafing against the bonds binding her hands behind her back. She leaned in and studied the map.

"You will march right through the Forbidden Ground."

Huarn drummed his fingers against the tabletop. "Superstition. No more."

Chris considered what she had heard the Harmonian captain and the gunner speak of. "You seek a True Rune. A power that devastated two armies a generation ago. A power better left buried."

"I see that you disapprove," he said. He rolled up the map and tapped one end against the palm of his hand.

"This would be the purpose," she began, shifting out of the lamplight, "Of your stay behind enemy lines."

Huarn smiled and handed the map to an aide standing in the shadows. He pulled his gloves from his belt. "They aren't much of lines around here. Harmonian property was left in this place. I am here to retrieve it." Behind him, the aide bent down to replace the map scroll in a hefty brass-bound wooden chest.

"The rune," Chris said.

Huarn pulled on the gloves. "It was stolen from Crystal Valley. By your 'Flame Champion.'"

Chris straightened her back, and tried to ignore the growing stiffness in her arms. "No man or woman is intended to own the True Runes," she said. But she couldn't help but imagine the things Zexen might accomplish with the backing of a True Rune. Great things.

Huarn's reply was swift: "No man but the Absolute One—may he be eternal." Something about the intonation; it sounded like a mantra, repeated for the thousandth time. But there was conviction in the words.

Chris nodded, staring at the surrounding canvas as it rippled in the breeze. The Harmonians were dangerous, in more ways than one. Such discipline they displayed. If Chris had but four, maybe five companies of such seasoned soldiers, she would need no True Rune to keep Zexen safe and in control. It would be better than a True Rune. But these Harmonians worshipped their Lord Hikusaak like the pious of Vinay worshipped the Goddess. It was an unhealthy obsession: a sin, but more importantly, a vice. A dangerous one, that made the Harmonians unpredictable at best. Far better then if such fervor could be channeled into more sensible modes of thinking. More like ours.

Huarn hunched over the table, and it squeaked beneath the weight of his splayed-out palms. He had dismissed his aide, and now watched her out of the corner of his eye. His lips twitched. "Impersonating an aristocrat is a serious offense in Harmonia."

Chris blinked. She stretched out her neck in circles and stared at the man. "What?"

His smile widened. He nodded, and his eyes rose to her hairline. "In Harmonia, blonde hair is a trait possessed only by the aristocrats. You've dyed your hair, haven't you?" He chuckled. "Is your hair naturally silver? I'd like to find that out." He stroked his chin with a finger.

She stiffened. Something about the question raised her hackles. "So," she ventured, struggling for an explanation to his line of reasoning, "We come to the matter of my captivity. Why do you hold me?"

Huarn shook his head, squeezing around the table. "I thought to get some answers out of you, but that will have to wait. Of course as the Silver Maiden, we'd rather you weren't around to structure any Zexonian defense worth mentioning. If it comes to that." The last part sounded tacked on.

"So it is an invasion you are after."

Huarn stood before her, hands clasped behind his back as if to mimic her imprisonment. "I told you; I came for the rune." He rolled his shoulders, and smiled. "Now that it's been located, I'm not hellbent on keeping you." He leaned from side to side to study her cheeks and shoulders. "With the True Runes as my witness, I might be persuaded to cut those bonds… if you were very nice to me."

Chris arched an eyebrow. "I have been nothing but courteous." She twisted in place to show her bound hands.

Huarn looked at her hands as if they contained some treasure hidden from him. His eyes snapped back up to hers, and he laughed. "You misunderstand. You're very innocent. It's… charming."

Chris' breath hitched. "This is inappropriate."

Huarn gave her a long look before sighing. His lips twisted into a self-mocking smile. "It's this wretched lonely life of soldiery, you know. I shouldn't be letting it get to me. But you're damned beautiful."

Chris' blood flared. Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Keep your opinions to yourself."

Huarn reached out to touch her chin.

She recoiled, stumbling back two steps before straightening and squaring her shoulders. She wished her hands were free—wished she had a sword to skewer him with.

Huarn shook his head. "You're being unreasonable. It's part of your charm, for sure. But do you really understand the situation? As far as Harmonia is concerned, having you out of the picture would be ideal. And you're already dead to the people of Zexen. Remember? If you died now, no one would even know about it."

The lamp guttered momentarily, casting his face in shadows for a moment before flaring back to life. His eyes gleamed with a disturbing hunger in the dark. She wondered if he was fully aware of it himself.

"Remember your place," she said. It was a struggle to moderate her voice. "You are a soldier. Not a brigand."

Huarn laughed. "Am I holding a blade to your slender neck, Silver Maiden? I could." He drew the sword in a single swift motion and held it out to his side. The gleam in his eyes had burgeoned into something more desperate, now. Something warring for control.

Chris did not flinch. She thought she didn't, at least. She remained still.

Huarn's features slowly drained of emotion, and then he managed a wan smile as he sheathed his sword with a snick of steel against wood. "I am not a cruel man, Silver Maiden." The appellation sounded sordid on his lips. "What I offer is an arrangement that would be to our mutual benefit. And it would cost you very little indeed, for so much in return."

Chris fought down a snarl, and replaced it with what she thought was a smile. Blood pounded in her skull. Very little? What did he know of her. Nothing. He knew nothing of her. "Draw your sword. Cut me down. I will die a knight," she managed through gritted teeth.

Huarn's hand froze on the hilt of his sword. "Is that a no?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

She did not respond.

There was the sound of footsteps outside, breaking the silence. A hurried conversation between the on-duty guards and the newcomer followed, muffled by the canvas. Then a soldier ducked into the tent. He hesitated as two pairs of eyes turned on him. In fact, he almost stumbled back half a step before catching himself and saluting, fist to heart.

"Sir!"

Something about the soldier's formality rubbed off on the captain. Or perhaps it was the haunted look on the young man's face that sobered Huarn up. "Report, soldier."

"Something's coming, sir!"

"You interrupted me. It'd better be damned good 'something,' soldier."

"Something…" The soldier's mouth worked in silence, grasping for the right word. He finally settled for, "…wrong."

**-?-**

Frozen in place, Corporal Robec stared at the figures shambling up the hillside towards the camp. He'd been a soldier for fourteen years. He'd taken part of a total of twenty-three campaigns, two of which had been termed 'incidents' and promptly stricken from the annals of Holy Harmonia—may it be forever. He'd fought back border raids, squashed peasant rebellions, lost a finger or two in pitched battles, and looted a capital. He'd seen an insane general turn his own camp into a mire of blood and death in one mad night.

But he'd never seen anything like this.

The things that stilted into view were not human. Rotted strips of leather hung from desiccated shoulders and ribcages. Broken chainmail clinked against bone. Hands clutched axes, swords, spears, and shields in rigor mortis. Callous, heedless, as if it didn't even matter that some of the weapons were broken stumps beyond repair. Clumped tufts of moldering hair corded out from the conical helmet sitting askew one's head. Another had but half a head remaining, the skull shorn in twain from brow to ear, leaving a disturbing gap where the brain should be. It stumbled forward, one step at a time. Behind it, a motley legion of the undead came into view. They marched in silence.

Corporal Robec snapped back to reality with a spasm like being woken out of a bad dream by a shower of ice water. He pulled out his sword, jabbed it high into the air, and roared "Form a line!"

Silence met him. On his left, Welc steadied himself with both hands on his spear. The man shivered like a virgin on her wedding night. Past him, boot marks scuffing the grass was all that remained of Joam and Seccan. On his right, Achol's mouth hung open. The man's eyes were popped wide as if trying to escape from their sockets. He was hunched forward in shock, and looked even more ungainly than usual. Behind him, Dem and Kantz stirred awake, checking armor straps and leveling spears.

Bootsteps behind Robec. Chainmail chinked like rustled coins in a chest. Parras adjusted his helm as he took his place beside Robec. Lugan trailed him, hopping on one foot adjusting the straps on his greaves to the tune of profane curses.

Parras nudged his visor back and saluted. "Joam and Seccan looked like they were in a hurry somewhere—_Holy Perpetuator!_—what is that?!" He jabbed a finger at the approaching dead.

Robec judged the distance at sixty feet. They didn't move fast, but then he wasn't in a hurry to meet them.

He glowered at Parras. "I want their sorry hides back here! We're forming a line to beat them off." The squad was listening now, but the soldiers were crowding him, shifting anxiously. Notably, not forming a line.

Parras' eyes shifted from the shambling legion to Robec. He stared at the corporal as if searching his eyes for signs of insanity.

"Corporal, they're dead! That's rune magic, right? We're not equipped to—"

On a surge of adrenaline, Robec lifted Parras up by his collar—man, armor, and all—and snarled, "We're chasing a True Rune. What in the name of the Absolute One—may he be eternal—did you expect? We are _Holy Harmonia_. No one's been dead long enough to send us fleeing! We form a line, or we die."

Parras' jaw dropped open. He looked almost as shocked as Robec felt. Robec's grip weakened, arm trembling, until the man's feet touched ground again. Numbed, the soldier nodded and ran off, shouting, "Joam, Seccan! You cowardly swines!"

Robec swept his gaze over the others. Where his eyes fell they turned from him, taking their positions, checking armor. Readying weapons.

Robec slammed his visor down and nodded to himself. This was fine. This was nothing. Huarn had given first watch on the frontline to Robec's 3rd Squad, even though they'd lost Mirek in the stampede. They'd been chosen because they were the best damn men the captain had. Even without Lieutenant Larouche. He never did much good anyway, poor bastard. Mirek, though, Robec wanted back. Good hands. Had his tongue cut out two years ago. Bloody good infantryman.

The undead were within twenty feet.

They would stand and meet the charge—slow as it was. Dead or alive, these things had limbs, and Robec knew half a dozen good ways to break a limb. Some of them he was proud of. Yes sir, Robec had no intention of getting dragged into a grave, kicking and screaming, in a Rune-forsaken land a thousand leagues from home. He'd always fashioned himself the type to die a captain of the guard serving some fat, whoring bastard of a Bishop—may the Bishops be eternal.

Ten feet. Then the dead legion was upon them. Robec wasn't quite sure what he bellowed when he rammed his sword into the scapula of a Harmonian solder fifty years dead.

**-Hugo-**

The wind howled past Hugo as the horse ran, whipping his hair and chilling his ears in a constant rush of air. Iron-shod hoofs clip-clopped down the gentle slope. Hugo reared up in the saddle to absorb the motion, but Lilly pressed up against him. Her body jostled with the horse's movements, and she chafed against his back. But she was soft. Thank the spirits it was not he who was behind: Lilly had tied her hat around her neck and let it hang on her back. That brown mane of hers danced like a streamer in the wind.

Hugo pulled up and cantered to a stop. He patted the horse's head. He'd ridden the mare hard, and she had worked up a lather, but Hugo knew her strength. That wasn't why he stopped. He glanced back.

The other horse came over the crest, carrying Yumi and Yun.

Hugo faced ahead and squinted into the night, looking for signs of fires. Nothing. Huarn was moving fast. And yet he was certain that the captain would have to make camp somewhere on the plains ahead if he aimed to cross the rolling hills.

When Yumi had almost caught up, Hugo nudged the mare into motion with his feet. He was surprised to find that the Kinese woman had been able to keep his pace. Almost, anyway. He'd had to make several little stops to "check the way." Still, it was impressive for a forest woman.

Hugo rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch out a tightness that sat much deeper than his limbs. He tried to still his breathing. What if he were too late? Spirits fend. No. It couldn't be. Huarn had to stop eventually, and Hugo would be there to act. It would be fine.

Once again there was that tiny voice inside that asked him 'why.' Why was he riding to that woman's rescue? Bylsma had asked the question. Yumi too. Lilly had voiced it in her own way, before the pace of the journey shut her up. Why? In Vinay, that had been just the question he'd wanted to ask her. Why Lulu? But there had been no real answer. And yet he'd accepted it; let the question lie. Now he struggled with another 'why;' the why of Chris. This time, he had to supply the answer himself. Another tiny voice had just such an answer. But that was a voice he wouldn't listen to.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts. He looked around, focused on the terrain as they rounded a copse of bloodwood. The trees was younger here; the oldest some fifty-odd years, but most far younger. Fire had burned the land to ashes at that fateful time when the War of the Fire Bringer had reached its cataclysmic conclusion. There were other signs, too. The land here in the Forbidden Ground was littered with barrows and cairns erected by the living. This is where an entire generation of Grasslanders and Ironheads lay entombed. Proof of the foolishness of such an alliance, or so he'd been taught to believe. Now he wondered. A True Rune had been at the heart of the conflict, and the same rune had brought about its fiery end.

Something had stirred, here. Hugo had kept his senses peeled for the beasts that stampeded through the Wind Seeker caravan—one, perhaps two hours ago—but he'd seen nothing. Less than nothing. It was as if the entire Forbidden Ground had been stripped of life. Something had startled them, and badly.

Hugo crested a hill and saw at last the pinpricks of light in the darkness; the Harmonian camp. He pulled up the mare and turned to wave Yumi in. Slipping out of the saddle, Hugo wandered up to the top of the hill and looked out over the dark plains. As he squinted, the lights of the distant flames shone like stars to his muddled eyes.

He scratched at his hand where the Fire Rune pulsed with an angry red glow. Though healed by Bylsma's Cyclone Rune, his arm still ached almost as fiercely as when he'd first unleashed the flames—stupid, thoughtless—and the irritation of the skin that he'd had even before had but tripled in intensity since. Lilly walked up behind him as he activated the rune. He could reach out with his senses, feeling the fire as if it were a part of him. He could—

Flames burst around his hand.

Hugo yelped. He sank to his knees and clutched at his wrist. The flame blazed, firing dancing arcs of fire in all directions. He tried to stop it, but the rune wouldn't cooperate. He beat his hand against the ground, gasping for air. He felt someone touching his shoulders, but hardly noticed.

Seconds passed in a haze of pain. A minute.

The fire guttered out. The rune still pulsed, but the magic was gone. Hugo drew breath in hitches, seeing the world through a scattering haze.

Hands touched his shoulders. Lilly looked down on him with a frown creasing her brow. "Hugo? Hugo?" She called his name with increasing alarm.

Hugo tried to nod but shook his head instead—or something in-between. He was still groggy. He glanced around, seeing Yumi approach while Yun held off. The younger girl's eyes were wide and her hand was outstretched as if struggling to find a means to help.

Hugo brushed Lilly's hands away and shot up. He made another effort to nod. "I'm fine."

"Something is amiss," Yumi said.

Hugo grimaced. "Fire magic doesn't seem to work too well here."

Yumi nodded slowly. She squatted down on her haunches, splayed out her hands and touched fingers to the ground, and closed her eyes. The sigil of an Earth Rune flared into life on the back of her hand. She was still and silent for several moments, while the light of the rune flickered, waxing and waning in intensity.

Lilly glanced at Hugo, seeking guidance. He shook his head and waited.

Yumi's eyes popped open, wide with alarm. The rune's light faded. "The ground has a heartbeat."

Lilly blinked. "What?" Her hand went to the hilt of her rapier, though what she expected to do with it, even she seemed unaware.

"Something's buried here. Or was buried. In the Forbidden Ground," Hugo said. He wafted his hand against the chill night air, trying to cool his skin. It didn't work. "Something we're better off leaving alone."

Yumi levered herself up on Hugo's arm, then feathered damp grass from her breeches. "There's something else, too. An uneasy feeling reached me… There's a force hidden deeper. An unruly brood; something that could be commanded by a strong enough will, if liberated. But that isn't what we need to worry about. The thing that's affecting Hugo's Fire Rune is already free." She gave Hugo a pointed look. "Do you think we can avoid it?"

"We'll have to." He would have to find the 'why' later. "As long as Borus isn't foolish enough to engage the Harmonians, we should be long gone before whatever is about to happen here happens. We'll leave the trespassers to deal with it."

**-Borus-**

Borus cursed the enemies of the Goddess as his horse nearly stumbled on another outcrop of rock. Gritting his teeth, he squinted at the formation to better see it, and guided the animal the long way around. Another minor setback among a thousand. Another delay. Borus had taken to a slow canter to adjust to the dim light of the moon and the impossible terrain. And yet it was not enough. Hillocks were everywhere, as were rock formations and small copses of trees so dark as to be almost invisible in the night's gloom. And every now and then he'd knock over a mound of moss-grown stones. Borus began to understand why even the barbarians shunned this place.

He had to admit, the Harmonians moved at a speed he had thought impossible for a company on a forced march through the dark hours of the night. And across this terrain! It had been all he could do to follow the trail they left in their wake, but at times he wondered if it wasn't intuition that guided his step. Divine providence; the blessing of the Goddess upon her humble servant sent to rescue the Silver Maiden from the servants of evil.

The horse stumbled, but quickly caught its balance.

Borus cursed again. Justice would be meted out on the barbarian in the end. On all of them. He'd spared the boy out of weakness—on the off-chance that he was telling the truth. But no, he had been a fool: he should have cut down the defiler then and there. For milady's sake.

He drew a deep breath, trying to shake the vile images that entered his head. None of that would come true. Not while he drew breath. Milady was with the Harmonians, now. They would be more like people than the barbarians. He could reason with them. They would hear a fellow knight out, and let her go once the misunderstanding had been cleared out. She would be safe. She would yet return to Vinay to lead the nation against the barbarians. And he would be at her side, asking for nothing in return but the right to fight and die in her name. His beautiful Goddess.

There came a rustle from the bushes ahead.

Borus snapped to attention. He slowed the horse to a trot. "Ho! Who goes there?"

There was no reply.

He pulled up. "I am Sir Borus Redrum of the Knights of the Zexen Confederacy."

More rustling followed. Moonlight glinted on weapons and chainmail as a squad of Harmonian soldiers, eleven in all, clambered from the buckthorn shrubs and from behind acacia trees. These would be vanguards, left to protect the main force from pursuers. People like Borus.

"Sir Borus of the knights, is it?" the corporal said. It was hard to see the man in the dark, but he looked to be a thin man with a dark beard showing underneath his conical helmet. "Why do you announce yourself?"

Borus straightened in the saddle and stretched out a gauntleted hand to salute the man. "There has been a mistake. I'm looking for the Silver Maiden."

The corporal made a series of gestures Borus could not interpret to his subordinates. Then he took a step forward and said, "A mistake, yes. On your part." He looked to his men, then made a cutting motion across his own throat.

Borus knew that gesture. His blood boiled to the surface. He drew his sword. It leapt from its sheath with a hiss, and he cut for the nearest man. The soldier went down with a scream and a severed arm.

All at once there were shouts and the clang of weapons. Borus wheeled his horse around and backed off, making space for maneuvering. Spears jabbed at where he'd been a moment past. The soldiers advanced.

"Listen to me—"

A Harmonian took to one knee, aiming a crossbow. The bolt sizzled past Borus' ear.

He snarled. Spurring the horse into a pass, Borus splayed out his fingers at the crossbowman and activated his Rage Rune. Blood pounded at his temples. He unleashed the magic.

Fire bloomed around his gauntlet. A burst of flame enveloped and heated the steel plates, searing his flesh through the leather beneath.

Borus howled. Shaking his fist in desperation, he guided the horse in a pirouette and into as fast a trot as he dared with uncertain ground.

Another bolt whizzed past.

**-Serfein-**

The man in the middle was not large, but he pulsed with the light of a hundred runes, all active. Dark figures flocked to the figure, shambling in from the shadows as if to bask in the glow of the runes.

Serfein observed the gathering from above, hidden among a stand of yellow-flowered barberry shrubs atop the crest of a hill. She remained silent, slow of breath, and still. Invisible to them.

She found it difficult to keep her breath under control. It was clear to her that the figure below was the True Fire Rune itself. It had manifested as an Incarnation, though for what reason, she could not imagine. This site had marked the end of the War of the Fire Bringer, and the beginning of a problematic treaty for Harmonia. Hundreds had died, if not thousands. Records were unclear. A generation had passed, and now the True Fire Rune stirred. Was it the nearby conflict between Bishop Sasarai's forces and the Grasslanders that had awakened the rune? It seemed a possible explanation. But whatever the reason, it was a problem for her. For Harmonia.

Bishop Sasarai wanted the True Fire Rune returned. Lord Hikusaak—may he be eternal—would have the True Runes. As was his right. But to return the True Rune to Harmonia, its Incarnation would first need to be _unincarnated_. Returned to its pliable, lethal form of limitless potential.

The crowd began to move below. First the Incarnation set out, and then the figures around it fell in step. No words were spoken that she could hear. No orders, or signals. And within moments, a force twice the size of the Company was on the march. On a collision course with Huarn.

When their path bent around the foot of the hill, the light of the Incarnation's runes flickered across the face of one figure.

Serfein nearly gasped. Her lungs deflated. The man marching there was dead. A skeleton dressed in the ragged, dirt-encrusted garments of soldier having clawed his way from an old grave. And as the crowd passed by her, she saw that they all were.

The buried soldiers of a dead conflict.

**-Hugo-**

The bolt caught the Harmonian soldier by surprise. It buried itself in the man's neck with a wet thwack. He grunted, and fell over dead. Two of them turned, shouting a warning even as Yumi loaded another quarrel.

Then Hugo was upon them. He'd nudged the horse into a gallop and shifted his legs to one side. When the mare made its pass, he flung himself down. The soldier had just enough time to look surprised as Hugo slammed, dagger first, into his side. They rolled to the ground in a frantic tangle of arms and blades. Hugo felt his blade cut flesh. He wrestled to keep the man down; elbowed him in the head several times. A strong hand gripped his throat. Then went limp.

Hugo regained his feet, but nearly stumbled on the splayed limbs of the dead soldier. He looked up to see another Harmonian charging him down.

The soldier brought up his sword, and lashed out for his shoulder. Hugo raised his dagger, and the weapons clashed with a shriek of metal.

Hugo grunted, pushed blade against blade to keep the steel from cutting into his flesh. He could see the man's teeth glint in the moonlight. They were bared in a snarl. He pushed down on his sword with quivering arms, as if he couldn't believe that Hugo was able to withstand the press.

Thwack. A bolt bit into the man's exposed armpit. He howled.

Hugo wasted no time admiring the shot. He stepped back, releasing the pressure upon the sword. The soldier stumbled forward, still dazed by the pain. Hugo stepped in, grabbed the man's shoulder, and buried his dagger in his throat. There was a muffled groan. Hugo twisted the dagger, and the man fell silent, slumped into his arms. He shoved him aside.

It had happened in seconds. Beside him, Lilly yelped, clutched frantically for the reins, and shifted forward. She pulled out her rapier, meeting the charge of another soldier. The battle was a dance of shadows beneath the moon. Hugo could see the profile of Borus upon his charger fifty paces away, engaging six more of the Harmonians. The knight's sword rose and fell as he fended off his attackers. He retreated, ducking and weaving to dodge crossbow bolts flitting through the night air.

Hugo uttered a curse he hoped his mother never found out about. He ran towards the fight. The ground was a blur of grass, stones, and dirt beneath his feet as he closed the distance. A soldier noticed him when he was halfway there. The man dropped to a knee and aimed his crossbow.

Hugo hit the ground in a roll. The bolt whizzed past his head. He shot back up. The soldier reloaded in a hurry, and took aim.

Yumi's bolt hit the man in the shoulder. Hugo didn't hear it, but he saw the man stagger back. The crossbow misfired, sinking a quarrel into the trunk of a nearby tree. The soldier dropped the weapon and pulled out a dagger as he loped off into cover.

Hugo ignored him. He went straight for the man with the sword raised over his head and shouting orders. He was facing Borus, and was wide open.

Hugo slammed into the man's back and knocked him forward. The corporal twisted his head and flailed his sword back. Hugo swatted his arm aside and pinned it. He leaned forward and jacked his dagger into the back of the man's neck. It cut through flesh with a sickening noise and came away bloody. The Harmonian remained on the ground, unmoving.

There were shouts, now. The remaining soldiers had noticed him. The wounded crossbowman shouted desperately from his cover. The other man with a crossbow circled around to get a better aim.

Borus descended upon the soldiers like a whirlwind. His war-trained horse thundered into their midst, knocking a man down and staggering another. They crowded around him, stabbing and slashing. Borus wove around the attacks with the grace of a hawk in flight. His sword fell, cutting one man's throat. Twisting in his saddle, he shifted the sword to his other hand and slashed again. There was a clang as the weapon was blocked. Then Borus pulled back, feinted, and cut the man's head off.

The survivors broke.

Borus made to follow the fleeing soldiers, but abandoned the chase when the last man slipped in through the bushes. He wheeled his horse around on the spot, spitting and snarling and cursing whatever the Ironheads cursed.

Lilly reined in beside Hugo, rapier still in her hand. Blood dripped from the blade. Even in the dark, the look of distaste was evident upon her face. She frowned, staring at the weapon.

"This is bad. I'm supposed to be a diplomat. I think this may have inadvertently constituted an act of war against Harmonia." She sought Hugo's eyes.

He wiped the blood from his dagger. "It was self-defense."

Borus walked his horse towards them. Three soldiers were slumped in his wake, like fallen logs obscured by the shadows on the forest floor.

"That was uncalled for," the knight said. "I could have turned them around."

"I'm sure," Hugo said. He sheathed the dagger. "Are you ready to cooperate, now?"

Borus stared at him. There, again, was that gleam of gritted, snarling teeth.

"Sir Borus," Lilly said, sheathing her weapon after meticulously wiping the blood away. She grimaced. "Hugo means no harm. We would appreciate your help in rescuing Lady Chris. After all, that is why we are here, isn't it? Would you turn down our help?"

Borus glowered at her. Lilly did not flinch. The knight turned his eyes on Hugo, mouth twitching at the corners.

"You fight like an ape."

Hugo shrugged, squatting down to rest his legs. "So sorry to interrupt your negotiations."

Borus thrust his sword back into the sheath. "Don't let it happen again."

**-Borus-**

Borus followed at a trot in the wake of the barbarians—and the misplaced foreigner, who fidgeted in the saddle behind the boy. If Borus didn't know better, he'd think she was smoothing the wrinkles out of her clothes.

Their pace was leisurely enough; measured but even, so that they would catch the Harmonians soon enough but were in no real danger of wounding their animals in the chase. It was a slower pace than he'd preferred. But it gave him time to think.

A numbing sense of indignation now warred with the tightness of his jaw and fists. The barbarian had gotten there before him. Made a fool out of him. No matter that the barbarian no doubt had taken some hidden path known only to the cowardly creatures; some sapper's tunnel meant to one day be used by barbarian raiders to ambush Zexen citizens and drive cruel blades into their bodies. To loot and pillage, and worse. Even so, the boy's ability to navigate the heavy terrain by the light of the moon was impressive. Like a ship being guided through the reefs by the stars—or so Borus had understood it—the barbarian was leading them deeper into the Forbidden Ground, towards where milady would be. Or towards a trap. Borus had to remember that.

He nudged his charger around a rock outcropping, guiding the animal's hoofs along the trail of the boy's own horse. A valley was spreading out before them, if his eyes did not deceive him.

He wondered at the boy's motives. If he'd wanted Borus dead, he would not have entered combat with the Harmonians. If he'd wanted milady dead, he would not allow Borus to live. He had to know that Borus would gut him like a pig if any harm had come to milady. He had to know that. And yet the boy _had _made an effort to help fight the Harmonians. Borus had to admit that. But it could be a ruse. The boy would no doubt relish the opportunity to drive a dagger into his back, but he would not do so yet. No; the boy clearly meant to see him dead, but he would not allow it until milady was safe in their hands—a task only Borus could accomplish, as the boy well knew. Why else would he want to "cooperate"? For what dastardly purpose? Borus could but imagine what the barbarian wanted milady alive for.

Hugo reined in before an escarpment, twisted in his saddle, and leaned over the strange girl's shoulder.

"See the campfires being extinguished, torches being lit. They're on the move. But we're close. It won't be long now."

Borus trotted up beside them. He looked at the valley floor spreading out before them, and saw myriad torches being sparked in the night, arranging themselves in orderly lines and rows even as the camp was dismantled. It was too dark to see any details, but something about the camp spoke to Borus about a recent attack. But who could they have fought here? Perhaps his hunch was wrong.

He looked at the boy; tried to read his shadowed face. There was nothing there to betray his thoughts. Nothing there to speak of brittle nerves. He could not know that Borus had seen through his schemes.

Borus nodded. "No," he said. "It won't be long."

**-?-**

Seeing the grisly remains of Lieutenant Larouche had opened Lieutenant Varklav's mind to the many subtleties of life. The little ironies. Eyewitness reports held that Larouche, an animal lover, had been knocked to the ground by a boar of prodigious size, was then trampled by several dogs as he struggled to get up, and finally, for good measure, had his ribs snapped by the hoofs of a wild horse. It had to be a horse, too. The Company's own animals had been well fed and groomed under Larouche's watchful eye. Varklav wondered if the lieutenant hadn't died of a broken heart, even as the blood filled his punctured lungs.

Unlike Larouche, Lieutenant Varklav held animals and humans in equal contempt. He would begrudge neither one the opportunity to kill him when his final day rolled around.

But these things…

Varklav turned his sword over in his hand. The moonlight caught the blade and made it gleam. Broken bone and chain links littered the ground around his feet. And yet the blade was as clean as it had been this morning. Not a single drop of blood clung to the fuller. These things were dead as timber. And it chilled him to the bone.

They had survived the first wave. All around him soldiers ran between tents, snatching guy ropes and folding the canvas while weapons were collected and the stores packed onto the spooked horses. No less than an entire squad of eleven had been assigned to calm the beasts. They had been taken by surprise. But they now knew what they were fighting, and the skirmish had proven that the dead things could be broken.

Some squads had fared poorly. Varklav had seen at least three men with dead eyes staring up at the night sky. There was little time to bury them now. They had to be left behind. Conversely, Corporal Robec had, miraculously as his squad were the first to face the dead, come through the ordeal unscathed. How, Varklav could not explain. The man was wild-eyed, like a berserk from the Nameless Lands. He was a man in need of a good lieutenant.

Varklav sheathed his sword, and started towards the 3rd Squad corporal.

"Lieutenant!" Huarn called.

Varklav spun around. Huarn foisted the Silver Maiden before him, and the woman hunched forward and stumbled towards Varklav. She caught her balance, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. She glared at him.

"Keep an eye on her," Huarn said. "Don't let her out of your sight."

Varklav saluted. "Yes, sir."

The captain was already stalking towards Robec's squad. He swiveled and started backing away as he added, "We're moving deeper. We'll rendezvous with Serfein as soon as possible."

When the captain had gone, Varklav was left staring into the defiant glare that lit the Silver Maiden's eyes. He sighed.

"I am useless to you like this," she said. She leaned to show her bound hands. "Cut these bonds. Give me a sword. I will do you much more good."

Varklav motioned for the soldiers of the 5th Squad—somewhat down on man-power, now, and down a corporal—to take up a guarding position around the Silver Maiden. Then he shook his head.

"You'll remain a prisoner." Huarn would never allow it. And Varklav had seen the Silver Maiden fight. She was either supremely disciplined to hold back so in the duel against the captain, or she was a rotten fighter. And Varklav had never known a woman to have such discipline.

The Silver Maiden's lips twisted into a thin line of disapproval. She said no more. Around them, the camp had been swiftly and efficiently dismantled and loaded onto the pack animals. From ahead, the call for advance was given by Captain Huarn, and a horn sounded nearby. The 5th Squad started ahead, pushing the Silver Maiden between them until she showed that she was content to walk without complaint.

Varklav, last remaining lieutenant of the 282nd West Company, trailed in their wake.

**-Serfein-**

Serfein hurtled down the ranks of the soldiers. Voices rose in alarm, and the advance squads rippled to make place for her. She saw nicked weapons, damaged armor. Wounded. So they had encountered the dead.

She let the magic of the Godspeed Rune fade, and slowed to walk beside Huarn's horse. The captain's head whipped around to face her.

"We were attacked," he said.

"I know."

"Did you find it?"

Sweat cooled on Serfein's brow. She nodded, drew a deep breath. "It's near. But it won't be so easy."

"What?"

Serfein stretched out her neck, adjusting the cowl on her cloak to reveal her singed hair. "It's manifested. An Incarnation. It's small... man-sized. But this one is a spirit of war."

Huarn flinched. His grip on the reins tightened, and he snarled. It took a moment and a slow exhalation of air to calm him. "Alright. We can deal with this. But we'd best slow it down. Call on Bishop Sasarai's aid."

Serfein tightened her mouth, then said, "We may not have time to get the Bishop. His forces are marching on Chisha even as we speak."

Huarn shook his head. "They will not need his power."

Serfein paused, frowning at her feet as she stalked alongside the horse. Huarn had not slowed, which suited her fine. They had to move forward.

Huarn must have seen something in her mien. "There's something else," he suggested.

Serfein started, then nodded. "Something lies buried deeper. Something that needs coaxing."

Huarn frowned. "Not a True Rune. Does it pose a threat to us?"

Serfein hesitated. The sensation had been distant; a chthonic voice reaching up through earth and stone. There had been no desperation in that whisper. Simply a sense of… contentment. A patient deliberation, awaiting its release.

"It won't emerge unbidden."

"Then it is not our concern."

A soldier appeared behind them. He looked out of breath, and tousled as if he'd been in a scrap. Even compared to the soldiers marching around them, he looked beat-up.

The man slowed his step and saluted. "Sir!" he said, then gasped for breath.

Huarn raised an eyebrow. "You are Dorma, of the 6th Squad. You were assigned as rear guard." He twisted in his saddle. "Where is Corporal Tanak?"

Dorma's breaths came in rough wheezes. "Dead, sir. Only two of us survived, and Ceneun is being tended to by the surgeon."

"Did you encounter the dead?"

Dorma's eyes widened. "No, sir. I heard…" He shook his head; banished the thought. "We were attacked by a knight of Zexen. Borus something, sir. And he had allies; Grasslanders who caught us from behind."

Serfein rounded on the man. "Grasslanders?"

Dorma flinched, and faltered a step. He glanced at Huarn, but the captain was staring at him, waiting for him to respond. He nodded. "Yes, Mistress Serfein."

"Could they have been the same Grasslanders who were with the Silver Maiden in the caravan?"

Dorma blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yes, Mistress Serfein. I believe they might have been."

Serfein shot a sharp glance at Huarn. "This is a problem."

Huarn looked pale. "That settles our argument. There's no time to fetch Bishop Sasarai. We'll have to deal with it ourselves." The captain drew a deep breath, and seemed to steel himself.

Serfein picked through her pockets and holsters inside the cloak, checking her weapons. Confident that everything was in order, she nodded.

"I will deal with the interlopers."

Huarn's jaw tightened. He nodded.

Serfein jogged through the throng. She activated the Godspeed Rune and set off at a dash, with leaps and bounds. The soldiers cleared a path and pointedly ignored her as she passed.

**-The Vessel-**

The dead were silent as they trudged on across the grassy plains, forming up in a macabre cadre around the Vessel. Bone creaked, and armor rustled. Now and then, weapons clacked against bone or iron as two dead warriors stumbled too close to each other. Neither reacted.

As they passed more cairns, their ranks swelled. Skeletal figures clawed through the earth, or burst from piles of toppling rock. Hundreds now staggered through the night, like migrating wildebeest. Grasslanders marched in step with Zexonians. Neither cared about the presence of Harmonians at their sides. And among the Harmonians, there was none of the typical squabble about nationality and class. It was a beautiful symmetry. And despite the silence of the assembled warriors, there was a certain cadence to their step; a breath of something better than lungfuls of fleeting air. Fire filled these disinterred spirits, and breathed fury into their bones.

That fury would serve them well. The Vessel sensed that the advance troops he had sent ahead had been beaten down by an unknown enemy. And then there was the woman who had observed him from afar not long ago. Without a doubt she was a member of the hated Guild. This had the stink of Harmonia about it. He would have to teach them a lesson. The Vessel drew upon the magic at his core, and shifted shape.

His skin hardened, and took on the texture of scales. He grew in bursts.

Dead soldiers were knocked down around him, and bowled into others. Stumbles rippled out among his faithful with a clatter like that of a handful of stones dropped atop each other. The dead steadied themselves, and stepped aside, giving him a wider berth. And there he rose, changed: a monster wreathed in scales and flames. From his body, a lurid glare cast light out to a radius of hundreds of yards. Like a furious sun descending upon the earth to avenge himself upon the living. And so the Harmonians would regret disturbing him.

For this, his newfound shape pleased him.

**-Serfein-**

Knight Class Gunner Serfein settled down against the edge of an escarpment overgrown with holly. A valley spread out below, dotted with sparse bloodwood and barberry swaying in the cool night breeze. Sweat glued Serfein's hair to her cowl. Crystal Valley seemed a world away. Even the evenings were balmy as far as she was concerned. Mosquitoes buzzed inside her cowl. She could not wait to get out of this rune-forsaken place.

She pulled out her rifle. Five heartbeats passed while she drew back the frizzen, pulled out a cartridge, loaded the bullet and gunpowder, and then primed the weapon. She worked by feel, barely aware of the process as she focused her mind on the valley that spread out below the precipice.

Figures moved below. They were mere shadows creeping between bloodwood and acacia, and stepping around shrubs, but Serfein's eyes had been attuned to the night, and she could see well enough. Five people; three women and two men, divided between three horses. The details were unimportant. In the vanguard was the Grasslander who had masqueraded as the Silver Maiden's husband. He led the others with surprising speed. Another person might have assumed that his vision was unhindered by the overcast night, but Serfein knew the difference between a man who could see in the dark and a man who relied on familiarity with his environs.

She raised the rifle and propped it up on the edge of the precipice, then pulled the handle back to where her hand brushed against her cheek. She would shoot the boy first. Within a hundred heartbeats they would pass within range of her rifle. She waited, tracking the boy with the barrel of the gun. The buzz of mosquitoes. The chirping of mantises. The sound of her own steady breath. A branch snapped beneath the hoofs of their horses. Then they were within range.

Serfein squeezed the trigger.

* * *

**-Author's Notes-**

It took longer than I'd thought to plan this story arc. I've got the next two chapters pretty much done, so they'll be forthcoming within a matter of weeks.

As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. Both the good and the bad.

Now that the Pittsburgh Penguins are coached by Dan Bylsma, I feel almost prescient with the naming of the character in my fanfic. No relation there, honest, though I wish I could take credit. :)


	19. The Will

**Chapter XIX: The Will**

* * *

**-Hugo-**

Hugo heard the voice before he felt the impact.

"Get down!"

Someone slammed into Hugo from behind and knocked him out of the saddle. A loud _crack_ rang out. He fell, tangled his foot in the stirrup, knocked his head into the horse's side, then worked his foot loose and collapsed onto the grassy slope.

Nash looked down from atop him. He let up his grip, then turned, rolled away, and shouted, "Get back! Find cover!"

Hugo scrambled in behind a clump of trees, digging tracks in the soft grass.

Nash crouched down beside him. "Are you hit?"

Hugo shook his head and squinted at the man's face. He'd heard that noise before, ringing out in the night as he and Chris fled through the woods surrounding Tarnay. "That's a gunner, isn't it?" he said. "It's the woman who walked in Captain Huarn's shadow."

Nash nodded. "Knight Class Gunner Serfein." Gone was the half-smile, the roaming eyes, and the slouching shoulders. Nash sat leaning on his haunches, muscles tensed, eyes straining against the night.

"Do you see her?"

"We won't. But judging by the shot, she must be up on that rise. See where the crooked tree bends low? There, I think."

Hugo looked back the way they came. Lilly had led her horse to where she and the others now crouched behind a rock outcrop large enough to shield the animals from view. They were spooked, and pranced nervously despite Yumi's attempts at calming them. Lilly was waving both arms at him. He could not see her face, but she seemed frantic.

Hugo motioned for her to back off. Then he turned to Nash.

"We'll circle around; come up on her from behind."

Nash bit his lip. "Gunners are trained for situations just like these. Her night vision will be excellent. If we leave cover, we'll get shot."

Hugo banged his fist against the grass. He gritted his teeth, and nodded. "How long does it take to reload that Spirit-cursed contraption?"

Nash's head waggled in the dark. He looked to be turning the numbers over in his mind.

"For the typical gunner… twenty seconds. Maybe as little as fifteen. For Serfein… ten seconds."

Hugo licked his lips. "That's not too bad. With the horse, I could—"

Nash scoffed. "A horse makes too big a target. She'll never miss that shot." He shifted position to peek out from beside the trees, then pulled his head back. "But you may be able to use the horse as bait."

"No."

Nash stared at him. Silence passed between them for several heartbeats. Finally the man muttered something under his breath, nodded, and turned to face the escarpment.

"Alright. If we could somehow ruin her night vision…" He looked up at Hugo. "What about your Fire Rune?"

Hugo scratched at his hand. He frowned. "No luck there. At best I could turn myself into a living torch."

Nash nodded. He seemed more mournful than surprised, and made no motion to question the statement.

Hugo narrowed his eyes on the man. He wanted to ask how Nash had known, but decided against it. He had to be concerned with Serfein, now.

"How strong are those bolts?"

"Bullets. Strong enough to punch through armor."

Hugo shifted uneasily. "What about stone?"

Nash shook his head.

Hugo frowned. He'd discarded a dozen unfinished plans already. The woman wouldn't bite on just any bait. She had the vantage point, the range, and the initiative. To get her to shoot, it would have to seem genuine.

"Alright, then," he said. He crawled up the slope on his arms and legs. Nash made a hissing noise, but he ignored it. He looked over to where Lilly pressed up against the rock. Two seconds, if he stood up and ran. He tensed. It was at the edge of Serfein's range, and it would be a lateral movement, too quick to track. Serfein wouldn't risk taking that shot. He hoped.

He drew a deep breath. Then he burst into motion. He slipped on the grass, cursed and caught his balance, then dashed for the rock. One second. He ducked, then threw himself headlong and rolled through the grass. Listened for the bang of the rifle. It never came.

Each breath slipped into his lungs like fire. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and glanced up to see Lilly and Yumi pull him in behind the shelter and onto his knees. Borus stood clutching the reins of his horse, staring at him.

Hugo stood, and turned to Yumi. "You have an Earth Rune. Can you do anything about this?"

Yumi set her jaw, and said, "I'd love to." Then she sighed, made a defeated gesture, and added, "The distance is too great."

Hugo squinted at the stretch of open ground sloping up towards the sharp cut of the escarpment. Not a lot of cover there.

"How far can you work the rune?"

Yumi shrugged. "About halfway. Maybe."

Hugo nodded. It would have to do. "I've got an idea." He would be lucky if it was only half as crazy as it sounded inside his head. But it might work.

Lilly bared her teeth and punched him on the shoulder. "You're going out there? You already risked your life running back here just now! Is your head stuffed with wool?"

Hugo shrugged. He resisted the urge to rub at the point where her fist had connected. She didn't look like much, but she there was some force behind that arm.

"Right," he said. Lilly looked about ready to punch him again—and harder this time—so he grabbed her arm. "Listen. That's Huarn's gunner out there. But it'll be fine. This is my problem. I want you to go." He gestured at the stream that cut into a debouch to their left. "While she's occupied, you circle around. I need you to find Chris."

Lilly's eyes widened. She jerked her arm back, but couldn't get loose. She punched him with her free hand. "Absolutely not!"

Hugo grunted. Then he grabbed both of her arms. "I thought you said you were a diplomat. Find Huarn. Make him release Chris."

Lilly stared at him.

He released his grip, and shoved her by the shoulder. "Go!"

Lilly flinched. Then the pout and frown faded. She nodded.

Hugo rounded on Borus. "You."

The knight stiffened. He met Hugo's eyes with a frown.

"My plan involves you," Hugo said. He glanced up at the charger, impatiently stamping in place behind Borus. "And your horse."

**-Chris-**

Chris tripped on a rock hidden in the dark, and stubbed her toe. She stumbled, and lagged behind as she hopped on one foot to regain her balance. Rough hands shoved her forward, back into line.

The frustration was eating at her. The company had left the rolling savannah behind and was now marching over rough terrain, moving up a slope that, to her mind, was as steep as a ladder. Worse, the hill was gently forested, and she had to anticipate the solitary clumps of trees and unbidden outcrops of bedrock that rose up in an instant to block her path. But she would not falter. She would not give them the satisfaction.

She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and took on a grim smile. The shadows would obscure the gesture, but it was as much for her as it was for her humorless wardens.

A twig snapped beneath her boot. Bushes crunched as she ascended the slope, and then leaves rustled underfoot as she ducked through a breach between two trees. It was by this sound that she tracked the movement of the company as a whole. All around her the woodland groaned with the weight of armored soldiers. The squads had fanned out to establish a perimeter against the unknown menace, and she could hear the lowing of horns off in the distance, now here, now there, like a herd of cattle driven through the woods—a sound she had come to recognize as a signal of _all's well_ to the remaining troops.

Once, a horn had sounded a longer note, followed by two short ones. There had been shouts, then, somewhere off to her left, followed by the clank of iron and a terrified scream. The disturbance had been brief, and then a horn sounded to signal that this too had ended well.

Her own guards, led by Lieutenant Varklav, had stayed close. With her hands bound, there would be no escape even if the forest thickened ahead. She still considered it, but without a weapon, she would be easy prey to whatever was harrying the Harmonians. No one had come for her; that much was clear. But she was a knight. She would find her own way out. Somehow.

The soldiers around her walked with a tightness to their step, as if their legs were pulled taut in a vice. She could not read their features in the dark, but the way their heads snapped to attention back and forth betrayed great tension. These Harmonians were disciplined soldiers despite the lackadaisical attitude of their captain, but something about this fight had them rattled. She could not blame them. She had seen what remained of the things that Lieutenant Varklav had fought.

"These monsters are no allies of mine, Lieutenant Varklav," she said.

Varklav glanced at her, but said nothing.

"I expect you have great confidence in your soldiers' ability to handle this situation. And with all right. But this is no ordinary foe. Why let a sword-arm go to waste? Cut these bonds, Lieutenant."

Varklav clutched her arm and shoved her forward. "Quiet."

Chris saw the boulder at the last moment. She swayed around it and regained her feet. Several shoulders bumped against her as the soldiers too avoided the obstacle.

She swallowed her pride and kept her feet moving. He'd hesitated for a moment. He could not know, but she had seen the faintest falter to his step before he responded. The lieutenant's mood was sour, but there were those tiny signs in his mannerism that told Chris that she had found a chink in his armor. She could drive a wedge there, and win him over. But she had to be patient. If she spoke again too soon, she would lose her hold on Varklav.

A horn sounded, and all at once half a dozen lowing noises rose around Chris. The herd had awakened. All at once Lieutenant Varklav was shouting orders.

A soldier pushed Chris up against a tree and hooked his arm around her throat, holding her in place. She struggled for a moment, but realized that he meant to prevent her from running, his eyes darting from place to place in the dark. His breath came in hitches through his open mouth, and stank of garlic. She relaxed, and waited.

There was screaming now, all around her. The battle had begun. A soldier gasped. To the north, a bright glare rose, lancing through the trees and filling the wooded slope with burning gold. The light drove back the darkness, turning faint figures into soldiers locked in battle with the dead, and casting long shadows behind them and the trees.

At first, she thought it was the rising sun.

**-Serfein-**

Below, a shadow hurtled out from behind the rock outcrop, and then turned into a figure that came dashing up the slope towards the escarpment. It was the barbarian.

Serfein hesitated for a moment. Two hundred yards. At this pace, the boy would reach the rock face beneath her position in half a minute. Was it a ruse? He'd run from cover to cover a minute ago. Was he stupid enough to risk a head-on assault? Perhaps these people were truly unaware of the power of the gunners. Perhaps the deaths of the two gunners she had left under the Masked Bishop's command were flukes. That would better explain it.

One hundred and seventy yards. He was committed to the dash, now. Serfein scanned the ground at the edge of her range. No shadows were disturbed. Everything was still. She rolled her shoulders, and shook the doubt from her mind. Then she took aim.

There was the tell-tale flash of rune magic from behind cover as she squeezed the trigger. The bang masked a low rumble. Dirt and dust shot into the air before the boy, and the bullet vanished somewhere in that confusion.

When the dust cleared, a mound of earth four feet high rolled like a wave before the barbarian, matching his advance and shielding him. Earth magic. She'd like to put a bullet through the bastard with the rune.

She needed a better angle. She rolled to the side and edged towards the secondary perch she'd identified earlier. Better, but still not good. The shield covered him well. But it didn't move as fast as the boy had dashed. She pulled out another cartridge. How much time did she have? A minute? She counted backwards as she loaded the bullet and the gunpowder, trying to figure out how many shots she could waste. She cocked the rifle and aimed it. She had to finish it in five.

She pulled the trigger.

**-Hugo-**

The bullet punched halfway through the roiling barrier and struck sparks against a stone. It ricocheted off to Spirits knew where.

Hugo crawled on his hands and knees across the churned ground in the wake of Yumi's rolling wave of earth. He felt cold sweat budding on his neck. The mound moved at what felt like a snail's pace. Stones were mixed in among dirt, clay, mud, sand, and grasses, but the barrier was mostly hard-packed earth. The best he could expect was for it to obscure him, and make it difficult for Serfein to take the shot. He told himself it would be enough.

Hugo counted the heartbeats. Five, six… He began to shift to the side, near as he dared to the edge of the mound and away from where he thought the shot had originated. It was a gamble, but he had to believe that Serfein was desperate enough to experiment.

The rifle cracked like thunder. The bullet struck twice, bouncing. Then he felt a pain like fire streaking his leg.

He rolled up, gasping, gritting his teeth. He pulled at his leg, and found that he could still move it. The bullet had grazed his skin. Spirits damn him! That was too close. But he had no choice but to continue on.

Hugo lagged behind for a heartbeat, letting the mound run ahead. Then he licked his lips and started crawling again.

Sweat made his sleeves stick against his arms.

**-Yumi-**

Yumi stared at the slope. Her eyes ached with the strain. She stretched out her hand like an arrow to guide the rolling mound before Hugo. Her arm felt like wrought-iron tempered to a brittle blade. She couldn't even see Hugo in the dark.

Sweat trickled down her forehead, plastering her bangs against her cheeks. It got into her eyes. She wiped away sweat and clumps of hair with her free hand. Was he in position? She just had to assume so. She had heard no scream yet. Just the thunderous crack of the gunner's blasts.

Spirits forgive her: what she could do with such a weapon! What Alma-Kinan could do with such weapons. But it was an Ironhead tool, and cursed besides. Not something a true warrior would deign to use. Even so, the possibilities pocked at her attention.

Yun tugged on the hemline of her shirt. "Something's coming."

Yumi thought she felt her heart skip a beat. If someone attacked now, no one was there to back her up. Lilly was gone. The Harmonian man was… somewhere. And Borus had circled around, taking the long way.

She blinked, but kept staring at the mound. "What?"

"Something bad."

Then she heard it. The clack of bones behind her. Her horse whinnied, but it was too late. The animal hadn't caught their scent. Swords and spears flashed in the dark, and bit into the horse's sides. It turned to run, but a jagged sword-blade cut into its hamstring and caused the animal to stagger. The horse's panicked sounds cut through a din of hacking and slashing blades biting into the flesh. Then the animal went silent, and limp. It happened in moments.

Yumi hissed, then swiveled around. "Who's there?"

The figures that emerged from the dark with blood-stained weapons did not respond. The faint moonlight illuminated their features, and she saw them for what they were. Yun shrieked.

Yumi felt the breath leave her lungs as if she'd been struck. She was cold, but then she got hot. The rune's magic faltered, then flared up again as she redirected its power against the skeletal figures. The ground burst and trapped the legs of the nearest in shackles of hard clay. The figure staggered, then cracked a leg bone falling forward.

A dozen others pressed past the fallen one.

**-Serfein-**

As sudden as it had burst from the ground, the churning barrier halted. The forward motion toppled dirt from the lip, and then it was still. Nothing moved behind it.

Serfein squinted, eyes darting between the mound and the rock outcrop from where the light of rune magic now flashed intermittently. A trick?

She fingered the trigger, and let out a slow breath. She focused her eyes on the mound and listened in silence. Had she heard a scream, before? She could just make out the faint clang of iron from behind the distant hiding place. She spared another glance in that direction, and saw that the flashes of magic were on the move. Away from her.

Serfein shrugged. She drew a deep breath and took aim on the mound. She had time, now. Time enough to figure out just where behind the suddenly dead-end cover the boy was hiding. Time enough to make her shots count.

She shifted further to the side, and allowed a smile to crack her lips.

**-Hugo-**

The rolling wave of earth ground to a halt ahead of him.

Hugo bumped into the trailing edge of the mound. He froze up for a moment, but then scrambled up to the barrier and flattened himself against the churned earth in its wake.

He tried to catch a glimpse of Yumi. What had happened? He thought he'd heard a scream. But the rune still flared with magic, blossoming with sparks of light behind the outcrop. The spells were directed elsewhere. Had she abandoned him? No, he didn't believe that. Something had gotten her attention.

The rifle cracked the silence. Metal hammered against stone right near Hugo's head.

He flinched, and held his breath. There was no pain. He slowly lowered his hands, raised in desperation in reaction to the shot. His ears still rang from the discordant sound.

The barrier had been a gamble. Unless Yumi got the spell up and running, he was as exposed as a field mouse darting across open ground. And Serfein was the hawk. With all the time in the world, she would pick him off. Sooner rather than later.

He dared a peek over the barrier while Serfein reloaded. The mound had stopped not too far from where the extent of Yumi's magic would have ended. He'd planned to dash from there, where the slope was dotted with tree cover. But to get to that point, he would have to cross the worst part of the open ground. And Serfein would pick him off, without a doubt.

He propped his back up against the barrier and squeezed his eyes shut. His breath came out ragged. He tried to wipe the sweat from his brow, but only managed to smear out the dirt on his hands. He drew a deep breath. He'd done what he could.

The rest was up to Borus.

**-Borus-**

The wind ruffled Borus' hair, and he pinched in the saddle to keep his balance as his mount stumbled up a rugged slope lined with prickly buckthorn, holly shrubs, and lone acacia trees.

Another shot cracked the silence. The sound came from nearby.

Borus tightened his hold on the reins. He'd heard rumors of the weapon used by the Harmonian—a member of the illustrious Howling Voice Guild, no doubt—but imagined that he may well be the first Zexonian to witness it in action for a generation or more. The effect was appalling. If such weapons were to fall into the hands of the savages, even the mighty knights of Zexen might fall.

Pushing through a thicket of barberry shrubs, Borus emerged to stand at the lip of a crest crowded with buckthorn. Past a narrow lane barely visible in the burgeoning moonlight, and thirty yards away, Serfein lay flattened against the edge of the precipice, facing away from him.

The woman was fiddling with her weapon, twisting the little details mounted upon the shaft, slipping something into the pipe, and feeding a substance into a compartment near the handle.

Borus had to assume that she was reloading the weapon. It seemed a complex process. He edged up the crest, patting the charger's mane to keep the animal calm. It was not time to move, yet.

Serfein straightened the rifle, and there was a clicking sound. She settled the shaft against the edge and squinted past the barrel.

All Borus had to do was to wait until the woman had fired. Then he would charge down the slope and deliver the killing blow with one swift slash. Or he could simply run her down. The charger was well-trained. Not to mention well-shod.

It was a clever plan. The boy had courage, in a brute, stupid way—he had to give him that. His plan would work, and Serfein would not expect Borus to come charging down her back from the shadows uphill. It was a good ambush.

He leaned forward in the saddle, and tensed up.

Serfein fired. The rifle recoiled, punching back several inches.

Borus turned his steed and spurred it into a gallop, away from Serfein, and towards the Harmonians.

The rush of wind filled his ears as the charger worked into a sprint. The moon had broken through the clouds, and the open terrain rushed by below the horse's feet. Yes, it had been a clever plan. A barbarian plan. It had not been without risk. Serfein would not expect him, but she would suspect a trick. Chances were that she had a sidearm at the ready. She would get one shot before he was upon her. One missile from that arcane weapon—a crossbow of sorts?—would punch through his armor and deal a mortal blow. He would wound her, and the barbarians would cut her down. But Borus would die. All according to the boy's plan. It was all so clear now.

He wasn't so easy to fool.

Borus regretted not having the opportunity to bring an end to the barbarian himself, but duty came first. He could not afford a moment of self-indulgence. He had to do what was best for milady. And for Zexen.

**-Lilly-**

Lilly had made it a few hundred yards down the river's debouch in the saddle of Hugo's borrowed—certainly not _stolen_—mare when Yun's shriek broke the monotony of the wind's howl. It sounded like a cry of fear.

Lilly stopped. She reined the mare in and rose in the saddle; strained to see anything more than the tiny flashes of rune magic coming from the rock outcrop, like distant stars guttering in the night sky. It was too dark. And Hugo was out of sight, hidden by a steep cliff sheathed in brambles.

Another shot from Serfein's rifle cracked the night.

Lilly brushed hair from her eyes and bit her lip. She had to help them. Chris was far away and there was no guarantee that Lilly would be in time to help her. And she could take care of herself, even as a prisoner. It was Yumi and Yun who needed her bold action.

Lilly rapped her boots against the mare's sides, willing the animal into a trot, back the way she came.

The rune flashed ahead, growing closer as the rock outcrop bobbed in her vision. It was a dark smudge against the night, and the play of errant shadows made the cluster of stones resemble a looming giant in the dark. It too was growing larger as she drew near. She tightened her grip around the reins and imagined that the giant was a foe to be run down.

She rounded a bend in the valley floor and almost trampled Yumi. The woman was on foot, dragging Yun behind in a strong grip. Her eyes widened at the sight of the horse.

Lilly pulled up. The mare whinnied in shock, reared up on hind legs, and nearly threw her from the saddle. She clung to the mare's neck and cursed. The animal settled down on all four with a jarring thud.

"Don't stop!" Yumi said. She sounded breathless, and hoisted Yun into the saddle. The girl had her mouth clamped shut, but her eyes looked ready to clamber from their sockets.

Lilly pulled the girl into her lap with a grunt. "What's going on?"

Yumi wasted no time launching herself into the saddle behind Lilly. "No time."

Dark figures came shambling out of the shadows, staggering as if dragging their legs through waist-high mud. They moved as one; a silent legion making no noise other than that of boots scuffing the grass. And another sound: the clack of bone against bone. Then they came close enough for Lilly to make out their features. Their bodies were covered in tattered rags and broken armor. The flesh was stripped from their limbs, leaving nothing but bone.

Lilly sucked in breath. She stared at the shambling, rotted corpses.

Yumi swatted her ear. "Go!"

The mare was spooked, and was half-turned by the time Lilly regained control and finished the wheeling motion. She set off along the stream, splashing muddy water from the horse's hoofs.

"By the mother lode! Are those things undead?" Lilly asked.

Yumi twisted in the saddle, and Lilly saw the flash of rune magic out of the corner of her eye.

It was Yun who responded, pressed against her chest. "Yes."

Wonderful. Undead. Lilly felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. Images flashed through her mind in rapid succession and settled on the leering face of Neclord, so close to hers she had felt the absence of his breath. And those dead eyes. So cold. So predatory.

"Does that mean… the Blue Moon Rune?" She had to force the words out, breathless as she felt, and even then her voice sounded too husky. As if the mere mention of _that monster_ had warped her speech.

Yun shook her head. The girl's shock had faded somewhat, and the serious look on her face now seemed far too precocious for her age.

"They aren't like other undead. Fire's keeping them walking. It's leftover rage. From their lives."

Lilly kept her eyes on the path ahead. She slowed to cross the stream, bypassing a shelf of projecting bedrock.

"What do you mean?"

"They're warriors. From the Fire Bringer War. It ended here. When the Flame Champion lost control of the rune. And all these people died…"

Lilly harrumphed. "And now they're back up again? Great caverns of Tinto! I'd have thought they wouldn't _like _fire."

"Oh, they don't like it." Yun scrunched up her eyes, as if in pain. "Not one bit."

Yumi muttered a string of unintelligible words that sounded like curses. She twisted ahead and placed hands on Lilly's waist.

"There are probably hundreds of them out there. We have to go back. For Hugo."

Lilly stiffened her jaw. Her stomach was in knots trying to justify going back for him, but she had to do what's right for all of them. "No."

Yumi bent over her shoulder and pressed cheek to cheek. "What?"

Lilly leaned away, and gave her a sidelong glance. The woman was close enough to fill her vision, and her eyes looked tense, and desperate.

"Hugo's right, you know," Lilly said. "We have our own part to play."

"He'll die!"

Lilly reined in the horse, coming to a stop alongside the stream. The shallow water murmured as it ran over smooth rocks.

"Borus is still out there."

"Why isn't the gunner dead? She's still firing. Think about it!"

Yumi was right. Lilly had heard the crack of another gunshot mere seconds ago. And the same thought had occurred to her.

"Don't worry. The knight will not abandon his honor. But if he can't help, Hugo will think of something. Sure as gold is gold."

Yumi bit her lip. Her eyes looked tortured. "I abandoned him."

"You did not. And we won't!" Lilly straightened in the saddle and jabbed a finger at Yumi's forehead. "Get yourself together, woman! You said it yourself: there are hundreds of them out there. On our tail." She hoped that was true. The thought of such an army of remorseless monsters creeping up on Hugo was too much to bear. "If we go back for Hugo, we'll lead them right to him. And that will be decidedly bad."

Yumi chewed her lip. She nodded to herself, as if running the thought through her mind, testing it for validity. She turned to Yun.

"Can you see what will happen if we don't go back for Hugo?"

The girl shook her head, but then added, "Sometimes, it's better when I can't see anything."

Lilly shifted her grip of the reins. The insides of her gloves were slick with sweat. "Right. We'll lead the undead away. We'll find the Harmonians, and we'll diplomacy their pants off. We'll free Chris." To her ears, it sounded like a wonderful plan, full of promise. Hugo would praise her courage and her brilliance. She felt around her back for her hat, and was relieved to feel it still hanging down her side.

Yumi slowly nodded. She pressed her lips together, and exhaled. Her breath was hoarse when she spoke.

"Alright."

Lilly looked at her and shook her head. "Listen!" she exclaimed. "We beautiful women need to stick together, so I'll tell you something." She pointed a finger at Yumi. "Don't frown so much. It'll give you wrinkles ahead of time."

Yumi stared at her as if she had gone quite mad. On the horizon, a rosy light bled into the sky from the ground. The sun had risen.

But dawn was hours away.

**-Chris-**

Yanked up against a tree by a strong arm, Chris took in the chaos. Bright flame lanced through the trees, making long shadows dance in the wake of the living and the dead alike. Deep growls came blasting from the direction of the brilliant glare, drowning out the clash of weapons and the shouts of soldiers in intermittent bursts. And the source of that fire and noise was drawing nearer.

The Harmonian command structure had collapsed, and the engagement had degenerated into a series of quick skirmishes fought on half a dozen fronts. Swords, spears, and axes stabbed and slashed from the shadows. Bone clattered, broke, and collapsed. And the soldiers came away with casualties. It was an untenable situation.

Huarn fought to keep his panicked horse under control. The animal tossed and turned, half under the captain's control and half unable to find an escape route.

"Hold your ground!" Huarn shouted. He saw the wave of silent shades that shambled out of the darkness, swore, and shouted, "2nd Squad, fall back!" His commands fell on deaf ears.

Blades clashed. Men shouted, and fell back with the sound of rustling armor. A figure emerged from the shadows, and a sword stabbed out. A scream punctuated the sound of iron sliding through flesh, and another soldier died. His killer was briefly illuminated by the glaring flame; a bare-headed corpse dressed in rusted chain, its rictus grin mocking a smile as it stood yanking its sword back from the soldier's chest. The blade had caught, and now made a mess out of the man's battered body.

Chris' heart raced like a drumbeat in crescendo. Fools, fools, fools! She turned away. She could not watch this. Could not sit idle anymore. She had to talk to Huarn. She could make the fool man see reason.

Lieutenant Varklav was nowhere to be seen. She looked at the soldier guarding her. He was little more than a boy; perhaps a year or two younger than she. But he was a big man, broad-shouldered and tall. His arm crushed against her throat, imprisoning her. But it was shaking. And his breath came on like a man struggling for air.

"Forgive me," she said.

The soldier's face snapped round to hers, pale, eyes wide. "Wha—?"

She leaned in, and hammered her knee into his crotch.

The soldier staggered back, clutching at his sore genitals and groaning like a dying bull. Tears built up in his eyes. He bit his lip, and swayed like a drunken man trying to find his feet.

Chris grimaced, ducked her head, and strode towards Huarn. Lances of light strobed over the captain as the source of the flame moved alongside the tree line.

There came a shout from behind and to her left: "No! Stop her!" Varklav's voice.

Huarn turned to her. He was a shadow outlined in burning gold. He flicked his sword to his side and fought down his horse, walking towards her.

"Do you think you can escape?" he screamed. "Seize her!"

Chris straightened before him. She faced his rearing horse without flinching.

"I am not escaping. I come to talk to you."

"What?" he spat. When the horse tossed to the side, half of his face was illuminated. His lips were twisted in a bestial snarl. "You choose this time to talk? You're insane!"

"I mean to—"

Rough hands grabbed Chris' shoulders. She was shoved onto her knees. At least two men held her in place. It was all she could do to raise her face to Huarn.

"I mean to talk sense to you. This battle is a disaster. You must pull back, yet you—"

A fist cuffed the back of her head. Her ears rang, and her vision blurred.

She coughed, then shook her head to clear her eyes.

Her ears ceased buzzing in time to hear Huarn say, "...of this idiocy. You will be silent, or—"

"I will not." She spat blood. "You will get all of us killed. We should be retreating, yet you move us toward an even greater threat. You are driving your men to slaughter."

"Shut up! Shut up!" Huarn screamed. A boot kicked Chris' stomach, knocking the breath from her lungs. The soldier stood over her, awaiting his captain's orders.

Chris gasped for air, watching the world in a blur for a long moment. Huarn's face wavered before her, like a mirage of shadow and light.

"I am a knight. My worth to Zexen is as a warrior, and as a general. That is all. And yet you wish to keep me alive. It cannot be for ransom, for if you hold my value in esteem, you would—"

Another kick. Her face was shoved into the earth. She came up sputtering dirt and grass.

"—you would never allow Zexen my services," she continued. "And if you do not, then you would know that you would get nothing for me. And yet you want me alive."

"By the grinding of the True Runes, woman," Huarn said, spitting. "Is there no way to shut you up save cutting your throat?"

Chris managed a weak smile. "Let me help. You value my expertise. You know I can help."

Huarn stared at her. For a moment, he actually seemed torn. Then he frowned.

"No matter how grim the situation, Holy Harmonia does not employ women in its armies." And we have no need of you."

"What about Serfein?"

Huarn snorted. "She's not a woman. She's a Knight Class Gunner."

Chris felt a tightness in her chest. Was there no way to convince the stubborn mule? Her ribs ached, as did something in her stomach. The back of her neck was sore and throbbed with pain. She swallowed more blood.

She stiffened her jaw. "I _can_ help."

Huarn had his horse under control now. He nudged the animal a step forward, closer to Chris. His sword touched almost to her throat, wavering dangerously in his grip.

"You're right," he said. "I do want you alive. But Holy Harmonia is not so proud of your achievements as you clearly are. And as for me?" He shrugged. "I'm still on the fence. But I will not have you questioning my authority. If you speak another word about this, _I'll feed you your own tongue_."

**-Robec-**

"Hold the line, you sorry sons of bitches!" Robec yelled.

Sweat kept trickling into his eye. He wiped at his face, and for some reason his hand came away sticky with blood. His cheek was slick with it.

"Corporal, you've got a gash in your brow!" Parras said.

"Nevermind that! Get these mangy dogs together."

Joam roared a battle cry, and swung his sword like a logger's axe. The blade cut through a dead warrior's shoulder, breaking bone and toppling the monster into a grisly pile.

Seccan screamed. He scrambled to his feet, but was dragged down by three skeletal warriors. The soldier kicked and stabbed, but his sword met only with air.

"Corporal!" he pleaded. His eyes widened with terror.

The dead stabbed. Their swords bit into the man's back, and tore him open.

The world began to sway, and took on a red tinge. Robec surged forward with a bellow that emptied his lungs. He bowled sword first into the undead. His first slash severed a spine. The skull was sent flying and smacked against a tree trunk before falling to the ground. He thrust his shoulder into the second skeleton. It was knocked back a step and missed its slash. Robec brought his sword around and swung at the third skeleton with both hands overhead. The blade tore through the skull, and the skeleton crumpled beneath it, collapsing into a deflated pile of bones.

A sword bit into his armor. He grunted, felt blood well up from a shallow wound. He turned. The second skeleton drew its blood-slick sword back and made to stab.

Robec slammed his foot into the skeleton's mid-section, sending bone fragments flying. As the undead warrior staggered back, he followed the kick with a diagonal slash. The blow smashed the collar-bone into a hundred fragments, then carried through the spine and tore the skeleton in two parts. It fell to the side, and landed atop the roots of a tree.

Robec raised his sword, then smashed it into the broken skeleton. Again. He lost his grip, and the weapon tumbled from his hands. He bent down, formed a two-handed fist, and hammered at the dead bones.

"Corporal!"

Robec snapped around, and raised his fists.

"It's me," Farren said. He put a hand on Robec's shoulder. Something on the ground had caught the soldier's attention, and his eyes flickered away. The man's jaw set.

Robec fought the daze, and steadied his eyes. The world stopped spinning so fast. His hands ached, and there was a painful throb in his side. He wiped blood from his face, and followed Farren's gaze.

Seccan stared up from the ground. His eyes were still wide; frozen in a last look of terror. His hand slumped ahead of him, seeking the grip of his sword.

The sight of him numbed Robec to the core.

The others were there, crowded around him. The remnants of his squad. There were seven of them left, including him. Besides Seccan, they'd also lost Dem.

"Corporal, I think we got 'em," Parras said. He leaned on his spear, favoring one leg. A fresh, shallow wound ran along his cheek. That would leave a scar.

"Good," Robec said. He bent down, fumbled for his sword and caught it. He wiped blood from the handle, and smeared his hands on his tabard. "We'll—"

Lugan was at his side. "Hold still, Corporal," he said, and began to wrap cloth around the gash in his brow.

Robec grunted. "We're too far from the Company. Soon as we're ready we're going to hustle back there. It's time to—"

A burgeoning light got his attention. Got all of their attention. Rising from the edge of the trees, it climbed the hillside like a morning sun, and sent light spearing in among the trees. The light grew, rose, and illuminated his squad from boots to helms.

Farren squinted at the hillside. "What... is that?"

The source of the light bobbed, climbing the hill with steady steps. And something huge broke the crest.

Robec gaped. His squad members stood paralyzed around him.

Over the crest stepped a fifteen-foot-tall reptile. It was more than twice as tall as a _saraak_, and as heavy as ten of their kind. But it walked on four feet, with leathery wings spread out from its back. It was a monster sheathed in scales that burned like fire, casting off the bright glaring light. _A dragon_. And it was coming right for them.

"Corporal," Parras croaked, "We're not equipped to fight—"

Robec turned and ran. "Retreat!" he yelled. He glanced back and saw that his soldiers had needed no more encouragement to follow.

The dragon yawned wide. There was a flash of light from within its maws. Then fire leapt from the mouth.

The flames hit the woods like a wave of water. The nearest trees were melted to ashes. Others shook and burst into flames. Achol screamed as his body was turned into a blistering, burning hunk of sizzling meat. A wave of heat slammed against Robec's back, and pushed him onto his knees.

Panic threatened to take his mind. Then he got himself together. He turned and staggered to his feet, sheathing his sword and pulling out his crossbow. "To me! Crossbows out!" he yelled, hoping that his voice would carry over the flames that now lit the ground, the trees, and—it seemed—the sky itself. A hundred yards away, visible only as a shadow within the fire, the dragon sauntered towards them, its tail sweeping behind.

His men assembled around him. He avoided looking at their faces—he didn't want to see the fear in his own eyes reflected back at him. He thought he would break if he did.

"Corporal, we can't fight this!"

The dragon howled. There was a hum like vibrations resonating through a sheet of metal. And all around them, dropped weapons from Harmonians and dead warriors alike began to shake and quiver. One by one, swords, axes, daggers, and spears were pulled into the air, and shot back towards the dragon as if pulled by a lodestone. Back into the vortex of fire and death. Around the approaching beast, a whirlwind of white-hot weapons spun, like a murder of ravens awaiting the dragon's command.

Robec's hands shook on the crossbow. He considered unloading the bolt into his own mouth, but decided against it.

"Listen," he said. "This thing is bad. It's coming after us. And if we keep running, we'll pull it right it the Company."

No one said a word. But he heard them shifting around him. They were all there. For a moment, he was filled with pride. Embarrassing, really.

"We'll have to draw it around," he said. "Behind the Company."

There was silence. Then Joam said, "Right, Corporal."

The others echoed his reply.

**-Serfein-**

Serfein straightened her rifle with a clack, and took aim for her tenth blast. There was no motion from the earthen barricade, by now shot through with bullets.

The boy had nerves. She had to admit that. In doing the work of the Guild she had often found herself in this position before. Pinned down by fire, most targets had a remarkable patience. Hours, days—weeks, if necessary. It hadn't happened to her, but she had heard tell of a gunner whose quarry, when pinned down, had died of starvation before moving.

But that was in the case of good cover. Of a stalemate not easily broken. In this case, the boy had to know, as Serfein knew, that the barrier would fail him before long. It was a matter of minutes, at best. She well recalled seven such situations, and she knew there were others of which she had shrugged the memory. In six of those situations, the target had soon succumbed to his fears, and charged her position with the madness of blood pumping through his head, shot through with mindless terror. Screams were usually involved. And the seventh, well; that target had been unique. She had almost died that night. Yes, this boy had nerves. Else he did not know, though she could not imagine how he could not, how close he was to death.

She satisfied her aim, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle went _crack_, and then there was silence. No scream, no shout of pain.

No movement.

Perhaps the bullet had cracked his skull, killing him instantly. But no, she would have sensed it. She would have been aware of that. By the True Runes, this boy was an interesting target! Too bad he had to die.

Serfein smiled—but only inside her head—and began reloading.

**-Nash-**

Nash dragged his body through the brush, arms first. Mud crusted on his previously spotless sleeves. Branches fanned him, and their thorns raked his clothes and scalp, cutting and ripping.

Nash would hate to see what this escapade had done to his previously so very presentable clothes. Sure, the shirt had been travel-worn, but he'd thought of it as the kind of shirt you wear when you meet up with a bishop of Harmonia and tell him what a marvelous job you've done on your assignment, perhaps flashing a smile and enthralling the eyes of some pretty shrine maidens rendered supple and flexible by temple chores in the process. Not the kind of shirt you'd wear when surrounded by toothless wenches in some seedy taproom in Muralia, or Caleria, or some other rune-forsaken, one-tavern town on the outskirts of Holy Harmonia. No, he'd gotten the _travel-worn _part just right. And now he had to do it all over.

Nash stuck his head out of the crawlspace, pulled himself out, and crept up on his knees.

A lane of intermittent brambles ran to either side along the crest of the hill. This was the place where Borus was supposed to strike from. Prints from a well-shod horse tracked across the ground, but of the knight and his horse, Nash saw no sign, dead or alive. And below, Serfein still relaxed against the edge of the escarpment, leaning away from him, doing some target practice on poor Hugo.

Nash rose onto his haunches, pulled a balanced throwing dagger from his sleeve, and flicked the blade at her.

Serfein rolled to the side as if sensing the weapon. The dagger bit into the grass beside her with a _thunk_.

"Funny," Nash shouted, "I thought gunners were supposed to practice with moving targets. Not sitting ducks." He drew another dagger.

Serfein edged along the ground, seeking a target for her rifle. "Who—?"

Nash retreated in among the bushes, and crept along the lane. He'd taken a chance, cracking that joke. He hadn't known Serfein personally, but there was a chance she knew him.

He leaned over the brambles and threw the dagger.

Serfein kicked off the ground and rolled back. The dagger hit inches from her leg.

Nash scrambled for the edge of the hill, and shouted, "Hugo! I've got her!"

"You are too confident," Serfein shouted. "You think I couldn't kill you both?"

Nash crawled down the lane, inch by inch, parallel to where Serfein scanned for his presence.

"You may hit me if you get three or four shots at it," he said. "But in thirty seconds, Hugo will launch himself over that escarpment, and we'll—"

The rifle rang out. A bullet darted through the brambles near his head. Nash's breath hitched, and then he grinned, scrambling ahead.

"Nice try. Maybe next time. Like I said, we'll both be on you like pigs in a sty. Whatever that means. And if you turn to shoot him, I'll plant a dagger between your shoulder blades. Just for you. Sure, you may get one of us. But it looks like Hugo is pretty upset at this point, and I don't mind having a stab at you either." He waited for ten heartbeats. When he heard nothing, he peered through the brambles.

Below, Serfein was retreating. In twenty seconds, Hugo would be there.

But the fight had just gotten started.

**-Chris-**

To the north, the woods bloomed with fire. All at once, the trees lit up like torches. Even the source of the fire, the false sun moving along the edge of the woods, seemed a muted and dull light in comparison.

But the roar of the flame was distant. The din of battle; of blades clashing and clanging, of soldiers shouting warnings, curses, oaths, of people dying... was all around her.

Chris remained with Lieutenant Varklav and his 5th Squad. There were seven of them left, including the lieutenant. The squad had been undermanned from the beginning, missing a corporal and several others. When it found itself on the frontline of this skirmish following the sudden rout of the 1st Squad, two more soldiers had fallen like weeds to the remorseless enemy. Their bodies now grew stiff on the forest floor, sprouting spears and axes from their backs. The same man still held on to Chris by the arm, too busy nursing his fear to nurse his throbbing crotch. His nerves were so taut, he hadn't so much as glared at her!

"Rally to me!" Varklav shouted. It seemed all the lieutenant could do; wagging his sword as if seeking a match for it, trying to instill some measure of order into his men. But it wasn't working.

He was twenty paces away when the dead found him. Four of them came round a boulder overgrown with moss. They bristled with swords and daggers, like a gang of stone cold killers. And they were nothing if not stone cold. Their weapons were chipped, nicked, or outright broken. But even the edge of a snapped blade could cut a man's throat.

Varklav shouted in alarm. He turned to run, but his foot caught on a gnarled root. He went down face first in a patch of moss. It muffled his screams.

Two of his soldiers let out yells, and ran to meet the charge of the dead. But they saw that it was too late. The dead descended on Varklav like a hail of arrows. Blunt swords hacked, cut, slashed, stabbed at the lieutenant's body, delivering shallow lacerations. The dead warriors took to one knee with great patience. Varklav's body twitched with each stab. A blade snapped, and remained in his shoulder. He took some time to die.

The soldiers stopped short of the massacre, hesitating at a chokepoint between two stands of trees. One of the men bent at the waist and emptied his stomach.

_Enough._

Chris turned to her guard. She steeled her voice against the shaking of her body. "Do you want to live?"

Her voice snapped the man from a dizzy stupor. His arms trembled as he turned to her, eyes bulging. His teeth chattered as he said, "What?"

"Cut these bonds."

He stared at her. His mouth worked like a bellows, laboring with each breath.

"Now!"

The man flinched. Then he turned her around with shaking, groping hands. A second passed, and then she heard, more than felt, the grind of steel against rope. Halfway through, the blade slipped and nicked her finger.

She hissed. Sharp pain flared and began to throb as blood trickled down her back.

The man grunted something. He kept working. The rope gave way.

Chris flexed her arms, working the stiffness out of the joints. Blood pounded in her ears, almost drowning out the pitiful sounds of chaos around her. She drew a deep breath, and shook herself. _Get a grip! You're a knight._

"What's your name?" she asked her guard.

"O-oharin."

"You will want to be using your spear, Oharin. Give me your sword." She held out her hand, palm up.

Oharin nodded with all the obeisance of a child caught stealing.

Chris blinked. She had expected more resistance. The hilt felt _right _in her hand. She swung the sword left and right, testing the weight of the blade. It would do.

The dead gang of killers had risen from the shredded remains of Varklav, and now crowded together, loping up the slope at a stitched gait. Dozens more undead shuffled out of the shadows behind them. In their path stood the two soldiers, holding the chokepoint between the trees. They looked no more sturdy than a pair of leaves dangling from the very branches above their heads.

Chris cuffed Oharin's arm. "We will reinforce them."

Struck silent, he nodded.

Chris started down the slope as fast as she dared. She did not want to suffer Varklav's fate. "5th Squad!" she yelled, "Whoever still lives, rally to the sound of my voice!" She could hear them out there, clashing, fighting, retreating... dying. There had to be some of them left.

The two ahead of her jerked around at the sound of her voice. At the sight of her, they recoiled.

"The Silver Maiden! She's escaped!"

Chris reached them. She shoved one man aside. "Consider me your new corporal or lieutenant or whatever suits your needs. Take Oharin and circle round to hit them from the flank. Find the others. Bring them with you. We will hold them here." When she saw they were slow to respond, she added, "That is an order. Hurry!"

The soldier ran. He even managed a half-hearted salute as he went off in a dash. Oharin followed in hot pursuit.

The remaining soldier gaped at Chris. "What... What should we do?"

So the look on her face was working. Chris had found that it usually did. She glanced at the approaching undead, and gauged that they had about ten, maybe twelve seconds before they reached the chokepoint. She pointed the tip of her sword in their direction.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"Lucas." His voice steadied, and his hand didn't shake quite so much around the hilt anymore.

"Lucas, you and I will hold this point against the undead. Have no fear. Live or die, we stand as soldiers." Goddess, how easy it sounded coming from her lips!

"Right," Lucas said. He added a nod, as if convincing himself of her words. "Like soldiers."

They stood shoulder to shoulder between the trees, with just enough room to handle their swords. Then Varklav's killers were upon them.

The skeleton in the front raised its chipped short-sword to slash. Chris stepped in with a diagonal swing. The blade slammed edge-first into the dead man's wrist and snapped the bone. The hand sagged and dropped the sword. The skeleton pulled its arm back as if to pummel her with the stubby bone. But it was trampled from behind as another skeleton pushed it down, stepped over it, and jabbed at Chris with a stop-thrust of its broken sword.

Chris sidestepped, and her own sword clanged against the stunted weapon. She shoved it back. The skeleton stumbled, was shoved ahead by another dead warrior, and righted itself. But Chris moved first, putting both hands behind an overhead swing. The sword took the skeleton in the vertebra just below the skull, and snapped its head right off. The rictus grin was the last she saw of the skull as it hurtled into the underbrush.

Lucas groaned as he parried an attack. He was knocked off balance and stumbled into Chris, shunting her against the tree.

Chris grunted, then pushed back, taking up position just as a blade flashed for her head. She flicked her sword up, managed a glancing blow. The rusty blade changed path and bit into her left shoulder. The sword's edge sawed into her flesh as the skeleton struggled to pull it loose.

Chris gasped, then bared her teeth. She grabbed the aged forearm holding the sword, and the strength residing therein surprised her. But she managed to trap the limb. It felt warm to the touch, as if possessed of an inner fire.

Her arm felt numb. She stabbed her sword into the skeleton's face, breaking its teeth but doing no appreciable damage. She pulled it back and hacked at the shoulder, at the arm, as if to avenge her own wound. Bone chipped and shattered, but the fleshless limb held until the fourth strike severed it with a sound like a snapping twig.

She yanked the rusty blade from her shoulder. Blood welled up, warming her sleeve. She flung the blade at the skeleton. It clacked against a scapula and disappeared into the underbrush.

Another dead warrior pushed through. Half a dozen others clustered behind, pushing and shoving for the way forward. Through Lucas and her.

The skeleton came at her with an overhead blow. She took it on the flat of her sword, and the weapons clanged. Another skeleton suddenly jabbed a spear through the ribs of her foe. She stepped back, but the spear-point found a way, and bit into her stomach. It retreated, leaving a shallow wound.

Chris struggled for air. Fire filled her veins, smearing her vision with blood-shot tremors. Her limbs ached.

Steel flashed through the bedlam. Swords, axes, spears. Numb in her haze, Chris watched her own sword dance, darting aside blades and points aimed at her. Beside her, Lucas cursed. His breathing was a ragged wheeze. They were driven back, yielding the chokepoint. The dead warriors stepped across the lost threshold, their bared teeth gleaming in the fire-light.

Chris backed up, flicked her blade around and stood ready to meet the charge. _Goddess, allow me an honorable death._

Oharin came out of the shadows, swinging his spear like a club. It cracked a skull into shards of bone. He came upon the undead from behind, joined by three other soldiers, all screaming like a pack of wild monkeys flashing swords and spears instead of claws. The remnants of the illustrious 5th Squad.

The dead froze up. They were caught in the chokepoint, and seemed unable to choose their foe. One by one they turned, made a half-hearted attempt at a slash or stab, and lost a bone or two to savage slashes. The Harmonians pushed through them, driving each blow with a furious roar. Bones shattered and sent fragments whirling. Skulls cracked, ribs snapped, and skeletons crumpled onto the ground or were pulverized against the trees. Soon, only a pile of bones remained, covering a patch of moss.

Watched over by a squad of heaving, fire-eyed soldiers.

**-Huarn-**

Smoke was beginning to well in from the spreading forest fire.

Huarn had seen a volcano erupt, once. The churning of fire, the billowing clouds raining ashes and slag upon the earth. The fury of the True Runes unleashed unbidden, unguided even by the Eternal One, as if to avenge itself against the grubby hands of mortals daring to entrap the runes, to brings them into the hands of humans and, absurd as the notion was, out of the hands of the world. The very gall of the act required an ostentatious show to disabuse the living of such false notions of propriety. Hence, a mountain burst into fire and scalding rock.

But this was different. Flames had erupted at the edge of the forest, all at once, as if a bubble had burst and deposited the flame in a wide swath. The fires now spread through the underbrush, and leapt to the sky on lit-up trees glaring bright orange in the night. And it was headed their way.

"Report!" he barked.

The soldier at his side—Dorma was his name—missed a beat before replying. "Sir! 3rd Squad is somewhere to the north. On the move. They may have engaged the, uh, the True Rune."

"Fire, indeed," Huarn muttered. He twisted in his saddle, and squinted against the gusting smoke. The fiery glare hurt his eyes. "The 3rd is leading the True Rune away from our position. Laudable, considering that our path to the north lies through a wall of fire."

"Sir!" Dorma said, saluting as if the act, and the word spoken, signified something in particular. Which, Huarn knew, it did not.

He looked at the soldier. The man's helmet was askew, his chain mail smeared with blood—not his own, he believed, else the soldier would have keeled under some time ago. He looked a mess, and yet he had stayed at Huarn's side through most of the battle, since losing his 6th Squad earlier this night. He was no lieutenant, but in lieu of an aide, he would have to do. He now helped guard the baggage train and its attendants, spread out around them. A baggage train the undead monstrosities seemed entirely oblivious to. No, it was the blood and guts that the bloodless, gutless bastards wanted at.

The wood smoke had gotten too strong. It had taken on that acrid stench in place of the pleasant scent of a mild fire. Huarn's horse pranced beneath him, whinnying and breathing in smoke.

Huarn patted at its mane, and frowned at the surrounding terrain. Each battle was a jigsaw puzzle. You couldn't see the pattern until you'd scrambled all of the pieces, then laboriously begun to put them back together. This was one puzzle he didn't like one bit. He was missing pieces. He could see no pattern. The forest had become a nightmare, with the undead striking from the shadows without a thought for their own safety, while his soldiers huddled in torchlight and crowded together for protection, trying to hold off a dozen fronts at once even as their communications fell apart. Their strength had become their weakness. He was losing his grip on even the pieces he _could _see. The puzzle pieces were barely locked together, as if held up in two hands and flexing towards an inevitable collapse. And that was never a good thing.

He had his sword out, and flexed his fingers around its handle. "We will retreat; get out of the forest and onto the plain. Where we can see the enemy." He turned to Dorma. "We'll have to gather the men and punch through the undead."

Another soldier intruded upon their conversation, joining them at a breathless sprint.

"Sir!" the soldier called out, saluting, then squatting down, resting hands on knees. "We now hold the south flank. The enemy there has been broken."

Huarn breathed down smoke, and coughed. He squinted at the soldier, blinking tears from his eyes. Finally, some good news. "South? The 1st Squad?"

The soldier straightened. "No, sir. 1st Squad has been lost. I think it's the 5th squad."

Huarn stared at the man. His mind worked through the confusion. "The Silver Maiden's guards? Lieutenant Varklav?"

The man looked about ready to flinch, to pull back from Huarn's gaze. He licked his lips, then said, "Yes, sir. Only, she's not being guarded no more. I think— Sir, I think she's in charge."

Huarn could almost hear the snap and clatter of wooden pieces of the puzzle fall apart inside his head.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Next chapter's coming up! As always, comments, questions, and critique are welcome. I can get a bit distracted with the details of the plot, so let me know if I'm missing something or if you think the story is out of control. :)


	20. Withered Earth

**Chapter XX: Withered Earth**

* * *

**-Chris-**

Flickering torchlight marked their perimeter. Skeletal corpses bristling with steel crept out of the night, and waded through high grass towards Chris' Harmonian troops.

The _thwack-thwack-thwack_ of crossbow fire filled the air with a hum. Volleys of bolts darted for the torch-lit perimeter, and groups of soldiers, each three men strong, roamed the inside of the circle, concentrating their fire on the undead, one at a time. Skulls shattered into bursts of shards, and skeletons clattered and collapsed into piles of broken scapulas and femurs. At the edge of the light, piles of bone built up beneath the grass.

The soldiers were good shots, once the calm had been restored. Once she had shown them the way. Even bone buckled under the focused barrage of a dozen of the broad-headed Harmonian bolts. Even the dead could be whittled down, when separated and basking in the torchlight. When there were no trees to hide among, no treacherous folds of the earth to emerge from. Even a shadow could die when brought into the light.

Yes, these soldiers were quite ferocious when given the proper guidance. She had led them south, from the burning forest and out onto the rolling plains where high grasses swayed in the night breeze, like reeds hiding shallow waters. Along the way they had gathered the remnants of the routed 1st Squad, and together they found the 4th Squad holed up at the edge of the woods, separated from the company and guarding part of the baggage train. Their corporal had gone half blind—and half mad—from bone shards wedged in his eyes, and now languished in a stretcher, shedding tears of blood, gibbering incoherently, occasionally voicing a shrill cry for attention.

Chris' wounds had been tended to as well, but the bandaging had been a hasty arrangement. She could not allow time to be wasted on that. The gash in her shoulder burned with a fire that made the world swim before her eyes. It kept her focused, though Lucas had to steady her from time to time. Now she walked along the perimeter, overseeing the battle. Thinking about her next move.

Suddenly there was a loud cry, followed by shouts of recognition. Chris turned. Captain Huarn thundered out of the forest astride his horse, like a man possessed. He formed the head of a column of soldiers and wagons marching down the wooded hillside, like a long line of ants escaping the burning forest. Smoke billowed out from the woods behind them, and some soldiers ran alongside their wagons, using thick bundles of cloth soaked in water to beat at fires catching on their wooden frames.

A ripple went through the assembled soldiers. At Chris' side, Lucas froze, and held his breath as if the captain's fury would burn the very air from the night.

Huarn reined in before Chris at a dead stop, causing the mount to rear up and spit dirt at her. He scanned the busy soldiers—too busy to salute him—and then his eyes fell on the sword at her side. Soot lined his face, like a man dabbed in charcoal. His lips twitched into a snarl.

Chris drew up before him. "Good," she said. She had to make him see reason. "You are just in time to assume command of the retreat." She had to make him see reason. If they didn't retreat now, they would all die.

"I see you're using groups of crossbowmen to fight the undead. Impressive."

"Captain Huarn, you have to—"

"No," he cut in, "What I have to do is finish the mission. We cannot retreat." He danced the horse around, frowning at the impromptu camp. "Where is Lieutenant Varklav?"

"Dead." She tried to look him in the eye, but the captain was focused on something out in the dark. She shook her head and sighed. "Captain Huarn, I understand what you are doing here. You seek the True Fire Rune, buried in the Forbidden Ground. But the rune was not buried alone. That conflict ended in tragedy. Thousands died when the Flame Champion lost control of the rune, and those restless dead are now stirred awake by the rune."

"We must have the rune," Huarn said.

"You still do not understand." She held out her hands, palms up. "Those closest to the blast were incinerated. Even the bone was turned to ashes. But they were measured in the hundreds. The others, they rested here in the Forbidden Ground, beneath the stones. Over three thousand cairns were raised back then."

Huarn blanched. He nodded slowly. Something pained passed over his features, but was gone as quick as it came over him. He managed a sorry smile. "And yet, we must have the rune."

Chris stared at the man, eyes widening. "Will you not see reason?" She gestured at the soldiers. "How many men do you have? Before tonight, sixty or seventy? How many have you lost? Half? And of those who remain, how many still have a taste for battle? You want these men to take on a small army. Not to mention the Incarnation of a True Rune, burning the Grasslands to cinders beneath its feet!"

Huarn's eyes reflected distant flames, and glittered. "We will not fail in our mission."

"You will all die. Or your soldiers will turn on you."

"No," he said. "They won't." He sounded hoarse, but there was no hesitation in his voice.

Chris gaped. She shook her head, sought the eyes of the soldiers encircling them. She looked to Lucas, and tried to read the truth in his face. But he would not meet her eyes. No one would.

They were so young. All of them. She was a fool for it, but she could not wish death upon these young men fighting Harmonia's wars. Soldiers were the same in every nation. Looking into their wide eyes, she saw before her the faces of mothers, their features lined with worry and love. The weight of those women's eyes was on her shoulders, bearing her down.

"Knowing the price of failure," she said, "How can you lead these men to their deaths?"

Huarn drew up in the saddle, and planted his fists on his hips. "It is not the price of failure what motivates these men, Silver Maiden. It is the prize of victory." He motioned to Lucas, and said, "Take her sword." When the boy hesitated, Huarn's eyes widened, and he howled, "NOW!"

Chris flicked the sword's point down, and handed the hilt to Lucas. He took it without meeting her eyes.

Huarn gnashed his teeth. "What is this? What have you done to my soldiers?"

Chris tasted something bitter on her tongue. "I have kept them alive."

Huarn grimaced, and the fury went out of his features. "You've done a good job at that. I won't thank you for it, mind you." He sighed. "I see now why you are the Silver Maiden. Curse my name with the power of the True Runes, but I'm desperate enough, fool enough, to see that I may need your help."

"Then I will help you. If you sound the retreat."

Huarn shook his head and laughed. "No, no. You will help me, not as a soldier, but as a strategist. You will carry no weapon. You will be an advisor. That will be acceptable to Holy Harmonia. And you will help me, even though I will _not _sound the retreat, because you are the Silver Maiden."

**-Huarn-**

When the woman was out of earshot, Huarn rounded on the soldier.

"Lucas is your name, isn't it?"

He flinched as if struck. "Yes, sir."

Huarn grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and, shaking a yelp out of the boy, lifted him clear off the ground. "Have you gone mad?" he growled. "You're taking orders from an outlander! Are you so content with your lot in life? Do you so desperately wish to work the Harakas gold mines? Work your fingers to the bone and die of arsenic poisoning? Do you wish to be sub-human, third-class scum forever?" He spit out the words, getting short of breath in the process.

Lucas' eyes were bulging. His lips trembled, and he cringed back from Huarn even held in mid-air as he was. "N-no, sir!"

Huarn let go. The man collapsed in the grass, scuttling back and onto his feet. He saluted.

"Good. Then you will remember that we are Harmonian soldiers. First, and last."

**-Robec-**

Corporal Robec, who had been born to third-class dregs in a crowded slum in a subjugated piss-stain on the map a thousand leagues from Harmonia, ran like hell. The muscles in his legs trembled, and his chest heaved with the effort of each breath.

The dragon barreled across the plains, massive feet crashing _thump-thump_ into the earth, shaking the ground a hundred yards ahead. Grass burst into flame where it stepped, and in its wake, ashen claw-marks trailed. Its jaws dropped open, emitting an earth-shaking roar.

Robec turned his shoulder and fired his crossbow blindly, cursing the dragon in a language outlawed in Harmonia two generations back.

The damn beast was gaining on them. Whittling them down. Kantz, Lugan, Joam. Funny, he couldn't quite remember their faces. All he could remember was the way they'd melted, liquefied, when the dragon's flame licked them. But then, Lugan had been trampled at the ridge, spine crumpling beneath those smoldering clawed feet. The man had looked so surprised, like he couldn't believe it'd happened to him, of all people.

They'd held down their part of the bargain, paying the damn lizard back for their comrades. The dragon's belly bristled with the shafts of two dozen or more quarrels, sticking out like needles in a pin-cushion. They'd succeeded in pissing it off. That was for sure. They were wearing it down or they weren't. But it wasn't slowing. And there were only four of them left.

Sweat stung Robec's eyes. His vision swam, and his attention flagged. He stumbled, hurtling forward, skidding to a stop face-first in the dirt. He tasted grass, and spat.

"Corporal!"

Parras yanked at his shoulder, and propped him up. Then Farren was there, and Welc. His whole sorry, Rune-damned squad.

"By the Absolute One's balls, may they be eternal," he croaked, shaking his head. "Why'd it have to be you lot surviving this far? You're the ones I hate the most."

Farren patted his back, eyes flickering behind. "C'mon Corp. Move, move."

Robec tested his legs, and found only throbbing pain that turned his limbs into water. He looked over his shoulder.

The dragon crashed over the ridge, a hundred feet away.

Still only water. He grimaced, peeling back lips to bare his teeth. "Can't. You go. Run."

Their eyes widened at that; went all googly-eyed, like fish stranded on dry land. Realization dawned on their faces, and a sullen resignation set in.

Parras turned to the approaching dragon. He cocked a quarrel to his crossbow, squinted, sighted at the beast. "You know, corporal, I always hated you too."

Welc grunted something. He tightened his helmet strap, made sure it fit right.

Something about the futility of the gesture made Robec laugh. But his lungs burned, and he choked.

Farren pulled out his sword. He'd discarded his spear a while back, or maybe he'd thrown it at the dragon. It sure didn't stick out of its scales now, so it didn't matter.

"Corporal, I just want to say what an absolute fucking disgrace it is to die here with you."

Robec managed to push onto his shaky legs, biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood.

"You sons of bitches were going to be my downtrodden underlings. When I was Captain of the Guard, see."

The three of them exchanged glances, but said nothing.

The dragon had slowed, and now sauntered towards them like a cat playing with mice. Its tail swept behind it, singing the grass.

"Damn it all, now it's toying with us," Robec muttered. He pushed away from Farren's shoulder, and looked at his crossbow. Then he shook his head, and threw the weapon down. Drew out his sword. "Right. You bastards ready to meet a True Rune?"

It happened in an instant. The dragon ripped its maws open. Robec threw his arms up, expecting to feel heat burning them to shreds. But no heat came.

The dragon roared. And then it began to shrink. The reptilian features softened, grew round, and scales became flesh. Hair sprouted. And a man stood before them, shrouded in flames. The quarrels embedded in its scales burned to ashes. In their place, the sigils of a hundred runes glowed brightly through the fire, coming alive with magic. The world dimmed.

**-Hugo-**

Hugo crouched down behind a large boulder. His legs and knees felt leaden, almost numb with strain. He'd padded along, knees bent, for so long now that he wasn't sure he would ever be able to stretch them out again.

They were close now. Hugo could hear shouts, and every now and then, the clank of weapons, or the crushing of bone. The boulder was outlined in the bright glare of a fire raging across the horizon on the other side, where a forest stood in flames. Undead monsters stalked the night—Nash and he had seen or destroyed at least a dozen, already. And somewhere on the other side of the boulder was Serfein. Lying in wait, with the light of the flames to guide her aim.

The woman had eluded them every step along the way. Flitting from bolt-hole to bolt-hole, using that damned Godspeed Rune. There was no way they could have kept up with her. They'd had to fight for every inch along the way.

Hugo flexed his fingers round the dagger's handle, working through sweat and grime to get a better grip. "We're running out of time."

Nash squatted against the boulder. He sighed, and then blew air up at his face. Sweat-soaked hair plastered his cheeks and forehead. "Some rescue," he muttered.

Hugo felt a tightness gripping his chest. Were they already too late? Would they find Chris dead, or turned to ash by the Incarnation of True Fire?

He shook his head. "No." He ignored a quizzical look from Nash, and instead padded over to the edge of the boulder. He sheathed the dagger on his back. "I'm going for it. You take the other side."

He waited for Nash to nod, and then lunged out past the boulder. He landed on his hands and knees and crawled into a stand of weeds and nettles. He froze for a moment, then stood, and hurtled forward towards a smaller boulder. He stumbled, fell to the side, and slid down the slope before the boulder.

Cold sweat broke on his forehead. He was exposed, right out in the open. Had she already seen him?

He flailed, and ripped his fingers through the dirt. His descent halted. He scrambled onto his knees, pushed himself up, and then yanked on the edge of the boulder. Sweat made his fingers slip.

_Shit-shit-shit!_

He dug his other hand into the dirt, raised his aching leg and planted his boot firmly. Then he pushed off, leaping into cover.

A bullet struck stone.

Hugo flinched. Then sagged down against the boulder, wheezing. He squeezed his eyes shut.

_That was too close._ He should keep moving while she was reloading, but his limbs ached. He had to catch his breath first.

Hugo wiped dirt and sweat on his leggings. He opened his eyes, began to rise—

And saw the world dim into gray mist. His vision failed. How much time passed in the dark? A few seconds? It felt like minutes. As his vision returned, a sudden light filled the sky. The sun had risen halfway towards the noon. Just in time to show a dozen men charging down the slope towards Hugo.

He jerked back with a gasp, fumbled for his dagger, drew it out and held it up in front of him.

The men were Grasslanders. Karayan. But he recognized no faces.

"Stop! I am Hugo, son of Lucia!"

If the warriors had heard him, they made no sign. The battle cry rising from their lips sounded strangely muted. Their eyes were fixed ahead, on something behind him.

The boulder? No. Something… else. If he didn't move, they would charge right through him.

A shout rang out behind him. That too was muted, the words lost to the mist.

Something leapt from Hugo's chest. A spear, then an arm, bursting from his body like a spirit given form. A man followed. Then an entire squad of Harmonian soldiers rushed through Hugo as if he were not there. He stood frozen as the two groups met five yards from his position, clashing to the dull sound of iron ringing on iron. Then a muted cry, as men began to die.

"No!"

Hugo charged at the Harmonians.

**-Chris-**

Thirty-two Harmonian soldiers crowded into formation along the ridge, staring down at the dragon that crashed towards Robec's 3rd Squad. Four men remained to defy the beast, including, Chris was told, the eccentric corporal. Fleeing like stray dogs scattered down an alley by a child's thrown rock. Chased by a dragon.

The Harmonian ranks rippled with discomfort at the scene. Wet eyes, white fists clenched round weapons. Robec and his men had led the Incarnation away from them. But it was clear that the beast was gaining on them. And the soldiers who watched their comrades flee headlong knew that they were too far away to help.

Undead were closing in around them, shambling towards the dragon. No organization, now. Just stragglers, drawn to the site by the fury of a True Rune.

Chris knew that it was madness. Huarn would throw away these soldiers' lives for a slim chance of delivering the True Rune of Fire to his Harmonian masters. She could not allow that; could not allow Huarn to possess that ruinous rune. Like all knights, Chris had been taught about the Fire Bringer War, and she had read more on her own. The rune, in the captain's hands or not, would obliterate these men. It would burn them into a fine ash, like silt, to scatter on the wind across the Forbidden Ground, where it would feed new growth in the wake of the spreading wildfire.

She would kill the captain. Once the battle began, once there was confusion… There was a slim chance. Her only chance. With the captain dead, she could commandeer the survivors, and lead them away. But she would have to work fast. And she would have to be subtle.

She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. Could she bring herself to do it? This was not what she had been taught, as a knight. But to let these men die in a fool's errand? That stood against everything she believed in. Contradicted every fiber of her being. There had to be a balance.

There was more to life than being a knight.

Huarn jerked his head in the direction of the commencing slaughter.

Below, she saw one of the soldiers of the 3rd Squad stumble. The dragon slowed, sensing its imminent triumph.

"It's time," Huarn said.

Chris tensed. She met his eyes and held them, and then nodded.

The Harmonians fast-marched, spreading out into a loose formation designed to minimize the damage of rune magic. Boots shook the hillside. Spears bristled. Sword-blades glinted in the light of the flames.

Chris followed in their wake, beside Huarn.

The captain had a dark scowl planted on his face. His sword was out, bobbing up and down as his horse thumped down the hill behind the soldiers.

Ahead of them, the dragon sauntered up to the four soldiers. Robec and his men had stopped, readying a last stand destined to fail.

They were still too far away. Though the dragon had slowed, it was now close enough to strike. They would not make it in time.

The dragon's maws opened. The soldiers ahead of it flinched, but no fire came. The dragon flashed with magic, and… changed.

A murmur ran through the formation in front of her. Soldiers stumbled in mid-step, watching the scene in confusion.

The world dimmed.

**-Robec-**

All around them, people rushed past. Hundreds of them. Thousands. A killing field, ranks collapsing into a pitched battle.

Robec stumbled forward, leading with his sword. Men rushed through the blade as if it were air. Shouting, their voices muted and dull as if reaching him from a great distance. Raising weapons, loosing battle cries. Zexonians, Grasslanders, standing together. And on the other side, Harmonians.

It was an illusion. Scenes of a battle that had never happened. Or one that had ended a long time ago.

Robec stumbled through the scene, wincing each time a man burst right through him like a ghost. People charged at him, screaming and snarling, weapons raised or set to charge. Their eyes did not see him. A spear jutted out through his stomach, and he lunged back to see a Harmonian soldier rush through him from behind, skewering a Grasslander.

Robec fell to his knees, clutched his head in both hands, and screamed.

That's when he felt the heat. Caught in the illusion, Corporal Robec never saw the tongue of rune-hot fire that engulfed him and, in the blink of an eye, reduced him to ashes. Along with his dreams of dying old.

**-Chris-**

Chris stared wide-eyed at the sight.

The sun had risen in an instant. The cool air of mid-morning filled her lungs. And a battle from fifty years ago played out before her eyes.

Huarn was there. The soldiers all were. But they stumbled around in confusion, breaking formation with shocked cries as the illusions sprawled out around them. Weapons flashed, real and imagined, but no wounds were inflicted.

A Grasslander ran through Chris, screaming, passing through her like the wind.

She flinched, and felt for her sword. But nothing was there.

_Where is the dragon? Where?_

She heard a muted scream. Then she saw fire bloom to the east. Trees burst into flame, and came crashing down as something bowled through the brush. An inhuman shriek shook the air.

The dragon loped out of the burning woods, vomiting white-hot fire. The press of soldiers shifted before it, then broke. Men scattered from the trampling feet of the dragon like water from a bursting dam. Soldiers threw down weapons, and ran screaming from the beast. One man lost his feet and tumbled to the ground before her. He didn't see her. He just got back on his feet and kept running. He passed right through her.

Something was amiss. The dragon she saw was part of the illusion; part of the history unfolding in her mind. How was that possible? The True Fire Rune had not taken an incarnation during the Fire Bringer War. It had belonged to the Flame Champion, Reldin. Until the cataclysm.

What then, was this beast which crushed Harmonian and Grasslander alike beneath its feet?

A scream rang out, sounding much nearer. It sounded real.

A soldier collapsed beside her. Not an illusion. One of Huarn's men. There was no attacker in sight, but as the man fell to the ground, blood burst from a gash in his stomach. As he thudded to the ground, more wounds appeared, on his shoulders, on his chest.

All around her, the screams of dying soldiers filled the air.

Chris' breath caught. Sweat beaded on her forehead. _The undead. Not part of the illusion. Hidden behind it._

She ran to the soldier, and knelt beside him. Her hands shook as she pried the sword from his still-rigid fingers. There was nothing she could do for him. She flailed the weapon round her head as she got back to her feet, backing away.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head until it hurt. She had to break the illusion. She had to see. She popped her eyes open.

Night turned to mid-morning in an instant. Colors bled over the shadows, and images of undead stalking the battlefield faded as the vision healed over their presence like flesh over scabs.

She stumbled back. Clutched the sword's grip so hard her fingers ached. She closed her eyes; tried it again.

A fist hammered her gut, knocking her breathless, and onto her back.

Chris looked up, clutching at her stomach and gasping for air.

Huarn stood over her, holding his sword in two shaking fists. "This was your plan all along," he spat out. His lips twitched with rage, and blood had rushed to his face, coloring it crimson.

"Wait—"

"No more!" Huarn shouted. He slashed down.

Chris caught the attack with her sword. The impact jarred her hands. She rolled aside, and onto her feet. Her shoulder ached something fierce; the bandage must've come undone.

Huarn pressed the attack.

Chris backed off step by step, weathering a storm of blows any way she could. Ducking here, dodging there, she parried four rapid blows, each making her hands tremble on the handle.

The sword was too heavy. The balance was wrong. It was a heavy infantryman's weapon. Not the dueling longsword she was accustomed to. The fire in her shoulder numbed her arm, making the act of compensating for the balance a frustrating act.

Huarn came at her with a heavy overhand blow.

She swayed. Huarn's shoulder slammed into hers. She yelped, bit down on her lips, and stumbled back. He slashed horizontally for her throat. Chris slammed her sword into his. The weapons met with a clang, and struck sparks. She leapt back, then lunged, thrusting for his sword arm.

An unseen blade wielded by an unseen foe cut her arm, and bit into the muscle. Something behind the illusion.

Chris screamed. Her hand numbed, and she heard the sword clunk against the grass.

Huarn backhanded her across the forehead. She sprawled back onto the grass, and raised her head.

Huarn's boot crunched against her chest. Pushed her onto her back. He towered over her like a furious giant, sword drawn back over his head with both hands, to deliver the killing blow. His chest heaved with each breath, and his mouth hung open, twisted with rage.

"_Haaah!_" he roared, whipping his sword at the grass. "Call yourself a knight? You are _weak_!"

Chris' head ached. She struggled to fill her burning lungs, and yanked at his boot. It didn't budge. She glanced to either side, and found that the illusion had faded. For her.

"Stop this madness," she said, coughing. "Look around you. Your soldiers are dying."

Huarn blinked, and his face softened into confusion. He stumbled away from her, moving as if in a daze. "What…"

Chris pushed onto her feet. Pain lanced as she steadied herself on her left arm. She used the other. The pain was somewhat less intense, there.

"This is your last chance to retreat," Chris said. "Save your soldiers."

"No…" Huarn stumbled to a stop. He whipped his sword in a wide circle, raking across two skeletons. A skull cracked, and the other's neck snapped. Both crumpled to the ground. "No," he repeated, and some steel returned to his voice. "I must fulfill the mission. I must." He set his jaw, and squared his shoulders. He stared ahead.

Chris looked past the captain. There, padding down a wound torn in the illusion, was the Incarnation. It was the real thing.

Huarn stalked towards it, picking up his pace with each step.

"No, wait!" Chris ran towards him.

Flames burst from the ground and ran in a ring around the Incarnation. It trapped Huarn within the circle. The captain marched on, unmindful of the fire.

Chris snapped back, hissing at the heat. She wagged her hand to cool it.

Huarn was no longer within sight.

**-Serfein-**

Serfein had activated the Godspeed Rune and darted from the bushes when the world dimmed.

She stopped in her tracks. The momentum of her stride carried her forward, and she stumbled, flailed her arms, and slid, tearing up the earth with her boots.

Her vision returned, and Serfein blinked, eyes widening. The sun had surged, in a moment, to stand halfway up the horizon. It lanced through thin mist, dispersing the fog and revealing hundreds, if not thousands, of Grasslander warriors and Harmonian soldiers engaged in a pitched battle all around her.

Serfein hesitated, ducking down and touching one fist to the earth. She had seen enough rune magic to know illusion by sight. But what was the source? Surely not the Grasslander boy and his unseen, infuriating ally. Their game of cat and mice had gone on for too long. If her enemies had access to magic of this degree—and this was a higher order rune, to create an illusion of such staggering scale and scope—they would have used it earlier. And the illusion would have been designed to trick her. This was… ancillary. Not intended for her.

Yes, she had been caught in a vision intended for someone else, and the distant screams of dying men rising somewhere to the east told her that she was right. Those blood-curdling shrieks were distinct from the muted sounds of battle coming from the illusions. There was nothing artificial about that sound. Somewhere out there, Huarn's men were dying.

A bestial roar tore through the illusion.

Serfein started, turned, and stared down at the field. She activated a complex runic sigil on her forehead.

The illusion parted, like water cascading from the sides of a rising embankment. Through the wound strode a dragon.

_The Incarnation. But… it's not._

Glowing runes studded the creature's scales, burning with the pulsing light of active magic. No. This was not the True Fire Rune. This was… a vessel. Something of the True Fire Rune lingered in its body, but it was no more than a broken shell. A broken shell powerful enough to extinguish her.

Serfein slung the rifle over her shoulder and tucked it beneath the dirt-stained cloak. Her breath quickened. She had to leave. Right now. Never mind Huarn.

It was his problem, now.

**-Lilly-**

The sun had risen in a hemisphere of mid-morning light with its center somewhere on the other side of a spine of bush-covered hills. Outside the perimeter, the night remained, approaching the pre-dawn hours. The division was sharp, like the walls of a child's glass bubble filled with sloshing water. But within the hemisphere, a scene of slaughter played out.

Lilly gaped. She reined in Hugo's horse ten yards from the perimeter. "So much for diplomacy."

Yumi slowed her horse to a walk. She cradled the reins against her chest and frowned.

Yun stuck her head past Yumi's shoulder, looking ahead and then splitting glances between Lilly and Yumi. The girl's face remained impassive. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

Lilly raised an eyebrow her. She squared her arm against her shoulders, pointing. "That. See?"

Yun stared ahead. Stray hair bound back from her face brushed her cheeks as she shook her head. "Same as before. The forest's burning." She wiggled a small finger at the hills. "There's soldiers over there. And undead."

Yumi drew a sharp breath. She leaned in to give Lilly a conspiratorial look. "It must be an illusion."

"What?"

Yun blinked. "Oh."

Yumi's lips twisted into a sad smile. She stroked the girl's hair with her fingers and then said, "Yun's eyes aren't meant for illusions. She can't see them."

Lilly squinted at the image. Rune magic. She shivered. "Did you say 'undead?' Where?"

Yun's arm bobbed as she counted out a dozen positions within the image. "There's a lot of them."

"I don't see anything," Lilly said. She bunched her lips together, and frowned. "I don't like this. Who is responsible for this?"

Yun traced slow movement on the horizon. Right in the middle of the illusion. "That. It's coming over the hill. The Incarnation."

Lilly felt a sudden chill. She pressed her tongue against her cheek and clutched at her rapier's handle. "Do you see Chris?" Maybe she wasn't there. Maybe she was somewhere else.

"Yes."

Lilly's heart sank. She mouthed a severe oath. She'd heard it from a gang of silver miners, but didn't fully understand it. How a person could be "plowed", she'd never know!

She rose in her stirrups and leaned forward, arms straight against the horse's back. She had to try. She wasn't much of a lady, Chris Lightfellow, but she was her friend. And she could always be shown the proper ways.

She plopped down in the saddle, turned, and then fixed her most ladylike gaze on Yun.

"Sweetie, we'll need you to guide us through the illusion. Can you do that?"

**-Chris-**

Tall flames hid Huarn and the Incarnation from view. Around the fire, the illusion was bleeding back over her vision, like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle depicting a moving scene of battle.

Chris knew that Huarn was lost. He would die, and the True Rune would remain masterless. It would have to be dealt with in the future. There was nothing she could do about that now. But there was something else she could do. She had shrugged the magic that created the illusion—for now. Some of the Harmonian soldiers remained alive. She could still save them.

She saw Lucas first. He stumbled through a haze, flinching at illusory men flitting past him or rushing right through him. He had his sword out, and swept it at shadows. In the stitches between the illusion, skeletons marched towards him. Slow, deliberate, like laconic killers.

The cut in Chris' hand throbbed as she gripped the heavy sword. Her fingers felt numb, but wiggled at her command. She ran towards Lucas, tensing as she sped through swaths of the illusion.

She stumbled right into a skeleton.

Chris leaned back, brought her sword up, and hacked at the dead man. The blade hammered against the back of the skull and cracked it. The skeleton crumpled before her. She leapt over it.

Lucas' blade nearly took her head off.

She stepped in on him and rung a slap off his cheek. "See me! This is not real!"

His blank eyes widened, and then focused on her as if he were just now waking from a bad dream to a worse reality.

His sword went slack in his hand. "Silver Maiden…?" He blinked, and stumbled towards her.

A skeleton stepped out of the illusion, pitching forward to swing its hatchet.

"Watch out," Chris said. She yanked him back.

Lucas stumbled over her knee, knocked himself around, and staggered back, dropping his sword and picking it up in mid-step. He shook his head and took in the scene.

"This is— Rune magic?"

Chris' slash took the skeleton's spine. Bones clattered to the ground.

She turned to Lucas. "An illusion. A vision of the past. Can you see through it?" She backed towards him, testing the vision with sweeps of her sword.

"W-wha?" Lucas squinted. His eyes went wide as they adjusted to the illusion. He nodded. "Yes. A little."

"Good. This battle is lost. We gather the others, and leave."

Numb, Lucas nodded.

"We will stick together. The edge is—"

A shout of anger and frustration pierced the air. Chris froze in her tracks.

It was Hugo's voice.

**-Hugo-**

The Karayans were slaughtered before Hugo's eyes. The Grasslanders had the higher ground, but the Harmonian squad was better equipped, better trained, and more disciplined. The Karayans fought with great courage, but never stood a chance. They died as warriors.

His daggers flashed, but passed through the Harmonians like sunlight through a window. Once the Harmonians finished their gruesome work, they rallied near the boulder and crowded around their corporal as the man gestured at the field below and shouted orders, his voice strangely muted. Their eyes passed over Hugo as if he were a ghost.

He stumbled back and stared at the bodies at his feet. He fought down the anguish.

_This… isn't real. Is it?_

He scrambled in among the dead Karayans, hands clawing at their clothes, but digging through and biting into dirt only. He strained his eyes, crawling on hands and knees among the dead men, examining the cut of the clothes, the dyes, the patterns.

The Harmonians departed, and several of them walked right through Hugo, as if he wasn't there. He barely noticed.

There. Hugo squatted before the bearded man with the blood-spattered short-cropped sandy hair. A thin white scar from an old wound cut across the cheek. A wound gaped open in his stomach, soiling his shirt with blood, but the woven pattern of alternating red and green diamonds on the hem was still visible. And there, on the sleeve, the embroidered image of two wrestling bears.

Hugo sat back. His mouth was suddenly dry. This was Moran the Bear. As a child, Hugo had heard stories of his prowess as a hunter and warrior told around the fires. The scar, gained from the claws of an eagle on a pilgrimage to the north. The bears, commemorating the time he pinned and slew a bear with his bare hands after it had killed his hunting companions.

But Moran had died before his mother was born. Fighting against the Harmonians, in the Forbidden Ground.

Hugo collected his daggers and got to his feet. He spun around and bared his teeth. He squeezed the hilts until his knuckles hurt. This was an illusion, but the affront was real. Suddenly the walking dead made sense. He understood what these corpses were. The Incarnation of the True Rune of Fire had turned his ancestors into playthings for its desire.

"True Rune or no," he snarled, "This is unforgivable."

He had to give answer. He had to destroy the Incarnation.

He started down the slope.

The sound of clacking bones registered in his ear at the last moment. He pitched forward into a crouch, and felt a blade whiff past his head.

A chill ran down his spine. The clatter of moving bones was all around him. Hidden by the illusion. He broke into a run—

He crashed into something hard and cold, and went down in a tangle of limbs. A rugged blade brushed against his arm, sawing through his skin and drawing blood.

Hugo cursed. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt along the cold bones. The skeleton bucked beneath him, struggling to free itself. Every hair on his body stood on end. He straddled the ribs and pushed down, reaching up the spine. He felt along the vertebrae, touched against the thrashing jaw. And snapped down, hard.

The skeleton went limp beneath him.

Hugo wasted no time. He popped his eyes open, and saw jagged tears in the illusion as he fumbled for his daggers. Skeletons stumbled through the gaps, like puppeteers moving behind a drawn curtain.

Hugo rolled away from the pile of bones and came up on his feet.

A skeleton stepped from the illusion and swung its broken sword.

Hugo lunged back, almost tripped, but caught his balance. He swung around in time to see two bony arms reaching for his neck. He scrambled back.

They were all around him, now.

Hugo gritted his teeth, then drew a sharp breath. He flicked his daggers over in his hands and took on a defensive stance. _Let them come._

Hugo let slip a howl, giving voice to his anger and frustration.

**-Chris-**

Hugo's scream halted Chris. She held her sword out, straining her eyes to see through the gaps in the illusion.

There. She could see him, whirling down the slope a hundred yards away. He was surrounded by a dozen undead warriors hacking and slashing for his limbs. He flashed a whirlwind of quick daggers, parrying and biting back, but it was clear that he fought to defend himself. He could not pierce the illusion.

He was drawing dangerously close to the Incarnation's ring of flame. Thousands of the walking dead were converging on their position. Behind her, the path was clear, but if she did not leave now, she would be enveloped; caught in a vice. To push deeper would be to invite almost certain death. But when she closed her eyes to fight the illusion, all she could see was Hugo's face, broken and bleeding. Even in the cold grip of death, he had that beautiful smile. She had to help him.

She turned to Lucas. "You will have to go alone. Gather the others and retreat south."

The soldier gaped at her. His eyes bulged. "You're going in there? You're insane."

Chris flexed her fingers around the sword's hilt. "Not yet."

She left Lucas in her wake, running sword first between the breaches in the false image. She kept her eyes on Hugo, saw him closing in before her, but kept glancing right and left, expecting to see the undead step in at any time.

Sixty yards. She leapt over a jutting rock, landed and slipped on muddy earth torn open by the boots of soldiers. She slid down the slope and threw up her arms to deflect an incoming tree. The trunk knocked into her good shoulder and spun her around. She regained her balance and kept running.

Forty yards.

Hugo was being driven towards the fire. He seemed oblivious to it, but he had to be feeling the heat coming off of the blazing wall. The undead massed around him; more of them had emerged from pockets of the illusion and encircled him where he made his stand on a patch of low grass. He crouched, bending his knees and feeling around him with his outstretched daggers.

Twenty yards. She was almost upon him. Just past a row of bushes. Almost—

A spark flared to her right. The bushes burst into flame, and a wall of fire rushed right past her like a fence pushing through the earth.

Chris almost toppled into the burning bushes. She edged towards the flames. Heat pressed against her skin, and sweat budded on her face.

The fire was too hot, and the flames too tall. She could not go through it. Biting her lip, groaning in frustration, she squinted through the flames. Hugo moved like a shadow past the lurid haze. He was still standing, but that was all she could tell.

Chris looked to either side. The flames surrounding the Inferno rose on her right, spreading slowly across the damp grass. To her left, a slope broken up by slabs of bedrock ran parallel to the spine of flame. She turned towards it, and ran.

Chris clawed through bushes and low trees. She banged her knee against the protruding bedrock, and it went numb with pain. She ignored it, and scrambled on top of the stone.

The flames were still too high. The heat was making it difficult to breathe, and woodsmoke poured from the ridge. She pulled her sweat-soaked collar over her nose using one hand, and ran up the slope.

A stand of trees blocked her path. The branches were catching on fire. She went around it, cursing at each second lost as she scrambled up a series of stone slabs.

She slipped on the stone, scuffing her legs below the knee. Her whole body was afire with pain. Her legs were mushy, and the muscles throbbed each time she lifted her legs. She longed to lie down and rest. But she kept climbing.

She hopped onto the tallest slab, and caught her breath with wheezing heaves as she looked down on the fire. She was almost three yards above the ground, and the fire was lapping at the stone, spreading through the moss.

She glanced back, measured the distance, and backed towards the edge of the stone. Then she ran, crossing the stone platform in three long strides. She sent her sword spinning through the fire. Then she held her breath and leapt from the end.

She hurtled through the air. Smoke enveloped her. Flames licked at her boots, then at her sides, and arms. The heat singed her clothes, and smote her skin.

The ground rushed up to meet her. The heat subsided all at once. She landed in an awkward roll and tumbled down the slope. Pain lanced through her legs. She hit her head on something hard, and her vision swam. But she remained conscious. She felt around her, found footing for the palms of her hands, and pushed onto her feet.

_Goddess, please let nothing be broken._

She stood up, wavering, flailing her arms to keep her balance. She tested her legs one at a time. They felt like water beneath her, but she could stand. She still had strength. And nothing was broken. She heaved a sigh of relief.

Chris stumbled around, and found the sword still quivering by the tip of the blade, buried half a foot into the earth. She yanked it out and looked down the slope.

Hugo was still there. His back was up against the fire, no more than ten or so yards. He must have noticed it, because he was darting in and out towards a closing ring of undead that encircled him like hungry wolves. His daggers flashed, but he was striking blindly. Some hits struck true, but most whiffed through air and did no good.

Sword first, Chris started down the slope. She half ran, half slid down the grassy dirt, and pushed her way through bushes and brambles. She hacked with her sword where the path was overgrown. She burst through the vegetation and onto the field.

Hugo's eyes passed over her. Then they slid back, and focused. He went rigid, mouth falling open.

"No!" he shouted. He jostled with a skeleton and shoved it away. "You're an illusion." He ducked beneath a slash and swept his leg, knocking another skeleton onto its back. He came back up with a fierce glare in his eyes. "No matter what, I will save her." He stalked towards her, daggers hooking through a skeleton's spine and taking its skull clear off. "You won't have her. She's mine."

Chris halted. She realized that her own mouth was hanging open, and shut it.

More skeletons crawled out of the woodwork, stilting towards her with their inhuman gaits. She realized that she too was surrounded.

"Hugo, it is me!" she called out.

His eyes widened. "No." But he was rattled. He sidestepped a hacking sword and approached warily, daggers held out to fend off treachery.

A single skeleton stood between them. It turned to face Chris.

She drew a deep breath. Then she lurched forward. With a shrill cry, she applied both hands to the sword and swung down. A skeletal arm rose, lifting an axe to meet her weapon. Her blade carried through the skeleton's wrist and snapped it. The arm fell towards the ground, and the blade ripped through the skull, splitting it in twain. The skeleton collapsed.

Chris stepped over the collapsing bones, holding her arms out to her sides.

"It _is _me."

Hugo hesitated, then nodded. Relief flooded his features, but then a look of something—embarrassment?—passed over his eyes. His face hardened again, and he hastened towards her. His hands clutched his daggers as if they were claws upon his fingers as he stared at her.

"How did… I thought…" He barked a short laugh. "You're free. Where's…" He sighed, shaking his head as if giving up.

She reached out a hand to grip his arm. He was alive. And he'd come for her. She wanted to smile, but something held her back. She wanted to speak, but her mouth was dry. And her heart fluttered.

"You should not have come for me," she blurted out. "You put yourself at risk." She managed a stern frown.

Hugo blinked. His lips darted open, but he pressed them shut. He shook his head.

She craned her neck, and searched his eyes. _She's mine._ What had he meant? Why had he said that? She brushed stray hair from her eyes. She was a mess. For some reason, that bothered her.

Hugo glanced over her shoulder. "We're surrounded."

And they were. All around them, dozens of skeletons were closing in. The flames were spreading, hedging them in, but more skeletons walked right through the flames, their bones coming away covered with smoke and soot. Teeth glittered in the light of the flame. Eye sockets yawned cavernously empty.

Chris let go of Hugo's arm and turned. "So we are." How many were out there? More than a hundred? It was possible. She shuddered.

Hugo edged up against her, and their backs pressed together.

"We'll have to fight," he said.

"Yes."

She drew up her shoulders, feeling the heat of his back against hers.

Live or die, today they would stand together.

**-Huarn-**

Wood smoke bloomed from the flames around them, and billowed forth in dark clouds. Half a dozen soldiers remained with Huarn. He couldn't remember their names; could barely see their faces beneath their helms. But it didn't matter. They were his truest men. Waves of heat balmed against his back, and against his sides. Sweat soaked the padding beneath his armor. Blood pounded through his head like a hammer striking an anvil. There was no way to go but forward.

The soldiers at his side were past fear. So too was he. They trod the scorched earth one step at a time, waving swords and spears from this side to that as if hacking apart straw men. And the undead fell before them, collapsing into rattling piles of bone at their feet.

Out of the haze, the dragon strode. It sauntered towards them with the sinuous grace of a lion. A lion wreathed in a halo of fire, with runes glowing over its scales. The fist-sized eyes set deep in its wedge-shaped head pulsed with power and hate. It stopped to watch them, and death seemed to hang in the air.

What matter, death? To Huarn, who had been born into servitude, a third-class citizen delivered kicking and screaming into a conquered, broken, shattered nation. A thrall. Sub-human, worthless, less than a man.

He had aspired to something more. Even Holy Harmonia—may it be eternal—could show mercy. Could elevate a beast to the ranks of men, by virtue of service rendered to his nation. To the nation his mother and father fought and died to prevent from conquering Sanadia. They had been fools to believe that anything could stand in the way of the Absolute One-may-he-be-eternal. Other nations, other peoples, all eventually crumbled and withered to dust beneath the boots of the Absolute One-may-he-be-eternal.

His soldiers stood breathless at Huarn's side, clutching their weapons like extensions of their own bodies, pointed right at the Incarnation. No one spoke. There was nothing to be said. No one made a sound that could be heard over the roar of the flames. They were done.

Their faces were lost to the haze in his mind, and he no longer knew their names, but he saw the fire of resolve in their eyes. Sanadians all. They were his men, and they would face their end together. His lungs ached and twisted, but his chest swelled with pride. While other Harmonian companies were rife with petty squabbles and in-fighting, the 282nd West Company was as one. They would slay an Incarnation, deliver a True Rune to Crystal Valley, and return legends, second-class citizens in the stroke of a Bishop's feather pen. Or they would die here, leaving behind an orphan's miserable existence. A life without meaning.

Huarn coughed blood. Smoke stung his nose, and rushed into his lungs. His head spun, and he almost stumbled, losing his sword. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and started forward.

His men marched beside him.

The dragon lurched forward. It loped three steps towards them, opened its mouth mid-charge, and—

It stopped. Snapped its mouth shut.

Huarn charged, bellowing a battle cry.

The Incarnation's form wavered amid the flames. Then it shrunk. In a burst of twisting transformation, a dragon turned into a man behind a screen of roiling smoke.

Then the man stepped out of the smoke, towards them. He had his arms outstretched. His face materialized through the haze. He was smiling.

Huarn's sword landed with a clatter against his boots. He heard the others drop their weapons, as well. For a moment he stood gaping, staring at that flawless face. Then a terror flashed through his mind.

He fell to his knees, kowtowing with his head touching the scorched earth, prostrating himself as if before his god. The rustle of armor told him that his soldiers did the same.

He heard the sound of heavy breathing, and he felt the man's presence, standing over him. Then the heat enveloped him completely.

Everything went white.

**-Nash-**

Nash stood around the bend of a shallow canyon gouged by a river cutting through the grasslands. The stream gushed past his boots, cooling but not wetting his feet. They were good boots, and had fetched a pretty penny in the markets of Algarice.

To his side, brambles climbed the walls of the canyon. He had the sun to his back, and it painted the stone in shades of gold and russet. He waited.

Serfein came around the bend at a sprint. The Godspeed Rune blurred her form, and each leap cleared five steps along the narrow bank of the river. She jumped from side to side of the stream to avoid the water and navigate through the brambles. Until she saw Nash.

Serfein splashed into the river, and came up wet and startled. She whipped out her rifle and aimed it squarely at his heart.

"Stand back. How did you…" She hesitated. "You have a rune." She stalked towards him with squared shoulders, tracking his every movement with the rifle's nozzle.

Nash smiled. "Not everything is a rune." He cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "Though some scholars would disagree. At least one school of thought I could name argues that the world is composed of—"

"Silence. You are…" she slowly raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "The renegade. Nash Latkje."

Nash shrugged.

"I should shoot you where you stand," she said.

"But you're too curious. To know why I'm here."

"What do you want?"

Nash set his hands on his hips. "I—"

"Stop. Another move and I'll shoot. No more warnings."

Nash grimaced. "See, I knew it'd come to this. Gunners these days have no patience. No sense of… timing."

"You were a fool to come here. You won't leave alive. But first, I want to know what you're doing here. What is your connection to the Silver Maiden?"

Nash smirked. "I was thinking I would do the questioning." He gripped the twin hilts in his belt. He hadn't dared unseal the swords with others nearby. The loss of control could have been… disastrous.

Serfein fired.

Nash pulled _Grosser Fluss_ out in one motion. The twin snake swords burst into rippling segments and spiraled out. The bullet struck sparks against the segments with a loud clang.

Nash surged forward. The world blurred around him. He flashed across the water and towards Serfein.

The woman turned and ran. But her feet couldn't carry her fast enough.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** This chapter got delayed a couple of months because I wasn't disciplined enough to keep working on it during the Stanley Cup Playoffs. :) It just got too tough for me to stay up all nights and try to focus on writing while waiting for games or watching games. But, all's well that ends well. Let's go Pens! :D


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